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SIX SHORT PLAYS 



SIX SHORT PLAYS 



Mr. Fraser's Friends : : In Toscana Tavern 

Onesimus :: The Bargain :: Figs and Thistles 

The Wise Man of Nineveh 



BY 
WILBUR S. TUPPER 




Boston 

The Four Seas Company 

1922 



Copyright, 1922, by 
The Four Seas Company \°\ 2* 



All rights reserved, including- rights of production and adaptation. 
The dramatic rights are controlled by the author. Application 
for the right of stage production, whether amateur or pro- 
fessional, should be made to the author, or to the pub- 
lisher, who, for this purpose, is the author's agent. 



The Four Seas Press 
Boston, Mass., U. S. A. 



JUN 1 9 1922 

<©GI.D (51536 
uc 1 



Affectionately Inscribed 

To 
ANNABEL F. TUPPER 



FOREWORD 

I have read somewhere that there are but seven original 
stories in the world, and that all others are derived, 
directly or indirectly, from these seven. It has always 
been a matter of interest to me to know the origin of a 
drama, or how the idea prompting it arose. I am, there- 
fore, addressing this foreword specially to such readers 
as share my interest in the matter of beginnings. 

The germ of In Toscana Tavern is found in an Italian 
story of the eighteenth century, in which a typical Italian 
desperado and his son are involved. There are various 
versions of this old story in several tongues. 

The ancient wisdom literature of the Hebrews tells of 
Ahikar, the Wise, cup-bearer and counselor to the King, 
and of his betrayal by his nephew. Variants of this 
simple story are found in Egyptian, Armenian, and other 
Oriental tongues. These manuscripts date anywhere 
from 500 to 1000 B. C, and may be much older. The 
references to Achiacharus, in the apocryphal book of 
Tobit (1-22; 14-10), undoubtedly refer to the Ahikar of 
our story. I have developed The Wise Man of Nineveh 
on the basis of these legends. 

The Bargain recounts actual happenings. The events 
recorded in the play were personally known to the author. 
Some of the characters and many of the incidents have 
been transferred, without change, from life to paper. 
This is, therefore, a "realistic" play, in the true meaning 
of the word. 

The theme of Onesimus should be known to all. As 
to the other plays in this volume, I know of nothing 
tending to connect them with the original seven stories 
of the world. 

Wilbur S. Tupper 
San Leandro, California 
September, 1921 



CONTENTS 

Page 

Mr. Fraser's Friends n 

In Toscana Tavern 29 

Onesimus 45 

The Bargain 59 

Figs and Thistles yy 

The Wise Man of Nineveh 95 



MR. FRASER'S FRIENDS 



A SATIRE 



CHARACTERS 

George Fraser, an author. 

Robert Fraser, his younger brother. 

Mr. Grosbeck, a banker. 

Mr. Banion, a lawyer. 

Dr. Milburn, a physician. 

Mrs. Webster, a lodging house keeper. 

Scene: Mr. Fraser' s apartment, early afternoon. 



MR. FRASER'S FRIENDS 

A SATIRE 



A room, simply furnished. A large table in the center, 
covered with books, magazines, and writing material. 
There are a couple of easy chairs and several straight 
chairs. Fire-place in back and near it, a lounge. 
Pictures of famous authors on the walls. There is 
a door, right, leading to main hall of the house, and 
a door, left, leading to another room of the apart- 
ment. As curtain rises, George Fraser is walking 
about the room, with his hands in his pockets. 
Robert Fraser is sitting at the table, right. 

George. [Stopping to address his brother.] It's like 
this, Bob. That novel took a long time. I could have 
turned out a dozen short stories, since I began "The 
Rising Tide." Thank heaven ! It's done at last. 

Robert. Got it accepted yet ? 

George. No, but I've sent it in, and its fate is in the 
hands of the publishers. They've had it a month, and 
not a word from them. Oh, this waiting! Now the 
point is — no money coming in — nothing at all, except 
from book reviews in the Sunday Tribune. Meanwhile 
bills accumulate, and the rent is unpaid. Dear me, dear 
me! 

Robert. Too bad you lost so much time. 

George. [Earnestly.] I didn't lose any time. I 
don't regret the work on it. It's worth while, if I do 

13 



i 4 SIX SHORT PLAYS 

say it. It will be accepted too, and sweep the country. 
[Seats himself at the table.] 

Robert. I hope so. [Pause.] Look here, George. 
I can help you out a bit. 

George. No, Bob. Remember you have a wife to 
provide for. 

Robert. Well, have you got a more loyal friend than 
Betty ? 

George. I know. Thank you for the offer, but I 
can't consider it. 

Robert. Why wouldn't Uncle Mark help? He always 
liked you. 

George. I thought of that. But he's peculiar. If I 
could explain personally — but I can't go to New York. 
No I must find a job for part time. But I'll need to be 
in better trim, before I do much anywhere. 

Robert. How's the cold getting on? What did the 
doctor say? 

George. He didn't come at all. 

Robert. Didn't come! Shall I leave word again? 
I must go now, anyway. [Rising.] 

George. No. I'm better today. But you may take 
this down to the Tribune office. [Handing him manu- 
script.] It must be in today. Ask if there are any books 
on hand for review, and bring them to me, at your con- 
venience. You don't mind? 

Robert. Glad to do it, of course. 

George. Then I'll let you do one other thing. As you 
pass by the Empire Club, see if Banion is there. You 
know Banion, the lawyer? [Robert nods assent.] Tell 
him to stop a minute here, on his way to the office. Say 
if convenient, of course. [Robert goes out right, and 
Mrs. Webster comes in at same door. She is a plain, 
large woman, typical of her class. She has letters and 
papers in her hand.] 

Mrs. Webster. Here's the mail, Mr. Fraser. 



MR. FRASER'S FRIENDS 15 

George. Thanks ! [He rises and takes mail. Looks 
eagerly at return address on each letter and throws them 
down, one after another, on the table. He notes that she 
is not inclined to go.] Thank you very much, for bring- 
ing the mail, Mrs. Webster. [He seats himself right of 
table, with his back toward her, and begins opening the 
letters. Mrs. Webster does not take the hint.] 

Mrs. Webster. Excuse me, Mr. Fraser, but I must 
speak about the rent that's past due. 

George. [Turning in his chair.] What? Oh, yes, I 
am behind a week or two, temporarily. 

Mrs. Webster. [Impressively.] Three weeks, next 
Monday, Mr. Fraser. 

George. Is that so? Well, I'll make a payment 
before Monday. 

Mrs. Webster. That's what you said last week. 

George. Did I ? Oh, yes ! I remember. I was ex- 
pecting some money, but it didn't come. But it will be 
all right, next Monday, never fear. [He turns again to 
table. Mrs. Webster stands her ground.] 

Mrs. Webster. I want to ask you, Mr. Fraser, what 
you think about changing to the little room upstairs. 

George. [ Turning again. ] Little room upstairs ! 
I'm comfortable here. This is all right. Why change? 

Mrs. Webster. It's cheaper, and if you find the rent 
here too high — 

George. My dear Mrs. Webster, if going upstairs 
would get me out of the financial fog, I'd be willing to 
sleep on the roof. But I fail to see how the plan would 
help either of us. 

Mrs. Webster. I'd rent this room to someone else, 
then. I've applicants waiting. 

George. Oh, that's it. Um! [Ominously.] Look 
here, Mrs. Webster, don't be in a hurry to take in new 
lodgers. You might get a desperate criminal, — a burglar, 
who would clean out the place some night. 

Mrs. Webster. I never took in a bad character in 
all the twenty-two years I've kept lodgers. 



16 SIX SHORT PLAYS 

George. [In a tone of surprise.] Not one in twenty- 
two years ! Then it's high time you had one. You know 
there are such people. They must have rooms some- 
where. [Confidently.] You will get one, any time, now. 

Mrs. Webster. [Softening.] Well, can I depend on 
that payment by Monday? 

George. [Emphatically.] You certainly can, Mrs. 
Webtser. Before then, I hope. [Mrs. Webster goes 
out right. ] Whew ! That's settled for the time being, 
but it will take a diplomat to meet the issue Monday. 
[Picking up letters.] Bills, bills, and more bills ! If they 
accept "The Rising Tide," I'm all right. But I'll be 
swamped by the rising tide of debts, unless something 
happens soon. [Knock at door right.] Come in! [Mr. 
Grosbeck enters. He is a portly, well-dressed business 
man of fifty-five, slightly gray. George rises to greet 
him.] Glad to see you, Mr. Grosbeck. Take a chair, 
please. [Both sit, Grosbeck at right of table, George 
left.] 

Grosbeck. I just dropped in for a minute. I've been 
thinking over the matter you spoke to me about the other 
day. 

George. [Interested.] That's very kind of you. 

Grosbeck. I've been turning it over in my mind, and 
I think I have found something that will just suit you. 

George. I must say it's generous of you, with all your 
business cares, to take time to help me. I certainly 
appreciate it. 

Grosbeck. [Magnanimously.] Oh, I'm willing to 
help any deserving chap, glad to go out of my way to do 
it. Ever hear of the Golden Garden mining properties? 

George. No. 

Grosbeck. Well, myself and four associates own 
practically all the stock. It is in one of the richest sec- 
tions of the Rainbow district. We are putting ten 
millions of the stock on the market — dollar shares, you 
know. It's a big thing, Fraser. 

George. But how does that open a door for me? 



MR. FRASER'S FRIENDS 17 

Grosbeck. Just a minute. We've got agents out by 
he dozens, selling to farmers, mechanics, and the labor- 
ng classes. Now we want a high-grade man to place the 
;tock with the better classes — business and professional 
nen, right here in the city. 

George. I'm afraid I'm not adapted — 

Grosbeck. Oh, yes, you are. Wait till you meet our 
nanager, and hear the selling talk. You will have our 
engineer's report, and it's a clincher. Then there's the 
•eport of other experts. You will find it all in the 
>rospectus. [Hands George a folder.] 

George. [Looking at the prospectus.] I don't see 
rour name here. 

Grosbeck. Oh, my name doesn't appear. I have a 
nan who acts for me as director and treasurer. 

George. Acts for you? 

Grosbeck. Yes, votes as I tell him. You know a 
)anker has to be conservative. People look to him for 
idvice in financial affairs. So to be unprejudiced, we 
lon't act as managers or directors of other concerns. 
But merely owning stock — that doesn't matter. 

George. [Vaguely.] I see — 

Grosbeck. Aside from other things, there's an advan- 
age in my name not appearing. You might refer a pros- 
pective buyer to me, and I could remark, casually, that 
i owned stock, and say what I thought about it. See? 
t's a money maker, Fraser, and you need the money. 

George. I need the money, sure enough. I don't 
nind telling you — I want to ask — 

Grosbeck. What is it? Go ahead! 

George. I've just finished a big work, a four-hundred 
)age novel. It took most of my time for months, and — 
veil, it's left me hard up, for the time being. Do you 
hink I could get a little loan — say a hundred dollars — at 
Aour bank to tide me over? For security — 

Grosbeck. Don't ask, just now, Fraser. You are not 
1 depositor with us, and we have to hew to the line, don't 



18 SIX SHORT PLAYS 

you see. [Suggestively.] What about Marcus Fraser, 
your rich old uncle? Ever hear from him? 

George. [Taking the hint.] I couldn't take this 
matter up with my uncle, under the circumstances. 

Grosbeck. He's a plunger, all right, and always bets 
on the winning side. But you take this offer, Fraser, 
and you won't need to ask anyone for money. [George 
makes a gesture of dissent.] Now don't decide till you 
know the terms. Suppose we make you a guaranty of 
twenty-five dollars a week ? Ready money, you see. I'm 
going to the company's office now. [Grosbeck rises. 
George rises, too.] I'll be back in half an hour, with 
an offer in black and white. Goodbye. [He goes out 
right. ] 

George. Goodbye. [He walks about the room.] 
Twenty-five dollars a week ! That would be a life saver 
right now. But I can't. I simply can't. Well, I must 
pull myself together, and settle down to pot boiler work 
again. [Arranges his writing material, and begins to 
write. Stops and changes the pen. Then throws it 
down, rises and walks about room. Knock at door right. ] 
Now who's that? Come in! [Enter Banion, a typical 
young professional man, well-dressed and prosperous 
looking.] 

Banion. Hello, Fraser! Your brother said you 
wanted to. see me. 

George. Yes, sit down. [Banion sits down right of 
table, George left. ] I won't keep you long. To get right 
to the point, I want to push that claim against the 
Stoddard Company. There's $400 still due me, you know. 

Banion. I see, I see. Want to start suit against 
them, eh? 

George. Yes, anything* to get the money. You know 
the facts. We can win, can't we? 

Banion. Let me see. As a legal proposition, it's very 
simple. [With impressive ostentation.] Their action 
was clearly ultra vires. Now that raises the question of 
estoppel. As to the condition of the property, your state- 



MR. FRASER'S FRIENDS 19 

ments were clearly representations, and not warranties. 
The doctrine of caveat emptor holds them there. That's 
plain, isn't it? 

George. [Hopefully.] Then you think we can make 
'em pay up? 

Banion. Hold on! I didn't say that. I was speak- 
ing solely of the legal aspect of the case. 

George. [Subdued.] Oh! 

Banion. Now as to the facts. You must substantiate 
your allegations by qualified witnesses, and by evidence 
that is competent, relevant, and material. If you can't 
do this, you lose your case. If you prove your case — 
well, then, you never know what a jury will do. 

George. We've got a chance, anyway. When could 
I get the money, if we win? 

Banion. [Calculating.] If we start now, we can get 
on the fall calendar, and try the case some time next 
winter, by spring, at least. Let's see. After verdict, 
motion for new trial. Motion denied, and appeal to 
Appellate Court. That will be a year more. Appellate 
Court is two years behind with its work. Judgment 
affirmed there, and appeal to the Supreme Court. 
Supreme Court is three years behind with its calendar. 
Oh, say eight or nine years. 

George. So long! 

Banion. That is, providing everything goes well, and 
there are no dilatory tactics. A reversal in the upper 
court would mean three to five years more. 

George. [Grimly.] Something like the Thirty Years' 
War, or the Crusades. Well, let's sue 'em. I'm a young 
man yet, and they may settle. 

Banion. It's up to you. But you understand it will 
cost something to start proceedings. 

George. How much? 

Banion. Disbursements will be thirty dollars or more. 
And there's the retainer. Oh, say one hundred fifty 
dollars, in all. 

George. [In dismay.] That much! In advance? 



20 SIX SHORT PLAYS 

Banion. Well, we must steer clear of champerty and 
maintenance. And it wouldn't be professional ethics to 
waive the retainer fee. 

George. [Dejectedly.] I'll have to let the matter 
drop, then. 

Banion. [Rising.] Sorry! I'd like to help you, 
Fraser. Well, I must be off. I've an important en- 
gagement, right on now. [Knock at door right.] 

George. Come ! [Dr. Mile-urn hurries in. He is a 
professional man of about the same age and general type 
as Banion. He carries a medicine case in his hand.] 
Glad to see you, Doctor. 

Doctor. Ah, Fraser! Beg pardon for being late. 
Couldn't make it yesterday. Awfully busy! [To 
Banion.] Don't go for a minute, Banion, and I'll go 
with you. [Banion seats himself on lounge, and during 
conversation between George and the Doctor, busies 
himself with a magazine. Meanwhile the Doctor has 
seated himself by George, and is feeling his pulse.] 
Hold out your tongue ! [George complies. The Doctor, 
with an important air, takes out a thermometer.] We'll 
try this, too. It's a ten-second one — only kind possible 
with the women. [Pause.] Well, hm! Well, you 
evidently have a mild hepatic derangement, hepato- 
enteric, or hepato-gastric, complicated with neurasthenia. 

George. What's that, Doctor? 

Doctor. [Inspecting the thermometer.] Slight 
pyrexia, due to temporary coryza. 

George. Have I got that, too? Well, fix me up. I 
must keep at work. 

Doctor. Hm ! [Pause. ] Who is your family doc- 
tor, Fraser? 

George. I don't know. Haven't had a doctor since 
the auto smash-up. 

Doctor. Who took care of you then? 

George. They called Doctor Baker. He was the 
nearest. 

Doctor. Then he's your family physician. 



MR. FRASER'S FRIENDS 21 

George. But that was two years ago. 

Doctor. That doesn't matter. You haven't called 
anyone since. [Emphatically.] Professionally consid- 
ered, he's your family physician. Now I mustn't do 
anything that looks like getting Dr. Baker's patients away 
from him. 

George. But Doctor — 

Doctor. You see if I didn't know he was your physi- 
cian, it would be different. But I do know it. Oh, no, it 
wouldn't be professional courtesy. 

George. I was about to say — 

Doctor. I'd like to take your case, Fraser, and the 
fact that I'm rushed to death wouldn't stand in the way, 
not a bit. But I mustn't lower our ethical standards. 

George. Of course, Doctor. You know. 

Doctor. Say, how about Culver, the new man at the 
County Hospital? See him. He's all right, they say. 
But don't tell him I sent you, [Emphatically J Really, 
you don't need anyone. Keep your fingers out of the ink 
pot, and stick your nose out of doors, occasionally, and 
you will be all right. [He rises. Banion rises also. 
Enter Grosbeck and Robert, right. The latter has a 
book under his arm, zvhich he puts on the table. George 
rises as they enter.] 

Grosbeck. Hello, boys! What's up? Private con- 
ference? 

Banion. Oh, it's nothing. We're going now. 

Mrs. Webster. [Entering with telegram.] A telegram 
for you Mr. Fraser. [Mrs. Webster goes out, right.] 

George. Oh ! Tha publishing company at last ! 
[Opens and reads message.] What! What's this? My 
Uncle Mark! Uncle Mark dead! [All start.] 

The Others. What? No! 

George. Listen. [Reads.] "Marcus Fraser found 
dead in his office. You are sole heir under will. Advise 
you come to New York. W'rc answer. Haldaue and 
Anderson, Attorneys." 

[General excitement. All crowd around George, 



22 SIX SHORT PLAYS 

beaming with enthusiasm, and shake his hand, 
as they voice their congratulations.] 

Grosbeck. Good, good ! A thousand congratulations ! 

Banion. Mine, too. Heartfelt good wishes. Shake ! 

Doctor. Well, well! I'm so glad. Put it there! 

Robert. George, you know how I feel. 

George. Thank you all. I don't know what to say. 
I can't realize it. [He drops into a chair bewildered by 
the neivs. Grosbeck, Banion, and the Doctor shake 
hands with him again, and pat him on the back. Mrs. 
Webster's face can be seen occasionally, at the door.] 

Doctor. What's the estate worth? 

Grosbeck. More than a million! He was rated at a 
million some time ago. 

Banion. Well, George, how does it seem to be a 
millionaire? 

Doctor. More than a million ! Think of it ! Let us 
all go over to the Empire Club, where we can celebrate 
properly, and drink our friend's good health. 

George. No, thank you. I'd rather not go anywhere 
today. I'm a bit flustered. 

Mrs. Webster. [Entering.] Oh, Mr. Fraser, let me 
serve something here in your room. There's cake and 
coffee that I just got ready for the Ladies' Aid Bazaar, 
this afternoon. It won't take a minute. 

George. Thank you, Mrs. Webster. You are very 
kind, but we mustn't appropriate the ladies' refreshments. 

Mrs. Webster. [Pleading.] Oh, let me! You have 
been with me so long, and I always wanted to do some- 
thing for you. Please let me do this ! 

George. All right, then. [Rising. ] We will accept 
your hospitality, Mrs. Webster, and thank you very much. 
Bob, will you clear the table, please? [Robert begins to 
gather up books, etc., from the table, putting them through 
door left.] 

Mrs. Webster. [To George, front center, in doleful 
voice.] I know, Mr. Fraser, you won't be staying long 
in my poor house. I'm so sorry to lose you. [Almost 



MR. FRASER'S FRIENDS 23 

tearfully. ] I don't know how I will find a lodger to take 
your place. 

George. Don't worry, Mrs. Webster. I'll see that the 
rent is paid on this room, until you do get a new lodger. 

Mrs. Webster. [Brightening.] Thank you, sir, but 
I'll never get another like you. [She quickly puts cloth 
on table, and brings in coffee and cake.] 

George. Well, gentlemen, we'll celebrate here — that 
is, if you have the time. 

Doctor. [Emphatically.] We'll take the time. 

Banion. [Similarly.] Business can wait. 

George. Compared with the Empire Club, it will be 
a modest spread. 

Doctor. [ Unctuously. ] It's not the refreshment. 
It's the fellowship. 

George. Come on. Be seated, please. [They all sit 
at table. George is on side facing the audience. Gros- 
beck and Robert are on his right, Grosbeck nearest to 
George. Banion and the Doctor are on the left. Mrs. 
Webster serves them, beginning with George.] 

Banion. You struck the right chord, Doctor, when 
you said fellowship. 

Grosbeck. [Rising and clearing his throat.] Gentle- 
men, I'm no speech maker, but I want to say a word 
about our friend and his good fortune. I have known 
George longer than any of you. He was in my Sunday 
School class, and I have seen him grow up, and watched 
him apply in professional and private life those lessons 
we learned together from the Good Book. I want to 
propose a toast to friendship — it's a line from Shake- 
speare, "He was my friend, faithful and just to me." 
[All but George stand and drink.] 

All but George. Hear, hear! [All sit but Banion.] 

Banion. I can't tell you how glad I am to be one of 
the first to congratulate George. He and I grew up 
together. What I have most admired about George is 
his loyalty to his friends, through thick and thin. I 
know that George, as a millionaire, will not forget the 



24 SIX SHORT PLAYS 

friends of his more modest days. This thought suggests 
the words of Confucius : "Faithfulness and sincerity are 
the highest things." [All but George stand and drink.] 

All but George. Hear, hear! [All sit down but 
Doctor.] 

Doctor. I want to add a tribute to our friend that 
you gentlemen have not expressed. George Fraser, as 
novelist and literary critic, has attained distinction in the 
world of letters, and has brought fame to our city. I 
have prided myself on his friendship, since I came to 
this place ten years ago. I am slow to make friends, 
and slower to change them. So I am prompted to give 
you this quotation as my toast to friendship: "An old 
friend can never be found, and nature has provided that 
he cannot easily be lost." [All but George stand and 
drink.] 

All but George. Hear, hear! [All sit dozvn.] 

Banion Now we want to hear from George. 
[George hesitates.] 

Grosbeck. Come on, George ! Tell us what's in your 
heart. 

George. [Rising.] I couldn't do that, Mr. Grosbeck. 
But I don't want you, gentlemen, to think me unapprecia- 
tive. [Cries of "No! no!"] I simply cannot express my 
feelings. It is all so sudden, so strange, that it confuses 
me a bit. A poor man at one o'clock, and a millionaire 
at two! \ Cries of "Hear! hear!"] It seems like i 
dream, and that I might wake up with a start. [Cries 
of "No! no!"] I don't realize the situation yet. It will 
take time to get my bearings. Thank you very much. 
[He sits down. Cries of "Good!" "Hear, hear!" and 
"Thafs the talk," from Grosbeck, Banion, and Doctor.] 

Grosbeck. Fine, fine, George. I am proud of you. 

George. [Starting up.] The telegram! I'm forget- 
ting the telegram. It called for an answer. I'll wire that 
I'll go on to New York. [Starting toward door.] 
Excuse mi;, please. I'll be back in two minutes. Do the 
honors, Bob, in my absence. [He goes out right. ] 



MR. FRASER'S FRIENDS 25 

Banion. Pretty soft for you, Robert, with a million- 
aire brother, and he a bachelor, too. You should worry. 

Robert. Oh, I've always made my own way, and I 
can do so in the future. 

Grosbeck. How would you like to try banking, 
Robert, if we can find a berth for you. 

Robert. Never had experience along that line. I 
might look into it. Thank you, Mr. Grosbeck. 

Doctor. I'm going to propose George for the Empire 
Club. 

Banion. Better let me do it. I've known him much 
longer, and you are new in the Club. 

Doctor. [Angrily.] Don't crab my idea! Do you 
want to monopolize him? 

Grosbeck. See here, boys! Don't quarrel over the 
matter. There's nothing to prevent all of our names 
going on his application. 

Banion I suppose he ought to join the Chamber of 
Commerce, too. What do you think? 

Doctor. [Disparagingly.] Oh, it will do for anyone 
who can't get into the Empire. Not at all select. Small 
tradesmen — Tom, Dick, and Harry — every barber, tailor, 
and piano mover that can raise twenty dollars a year. 
All right, if you want to run for office. [Pause.] 

Robert. Wasn't it strange that Uncle Mark should 
be found dead in his office? 

Doctor. Not at all. Seme heart trouble, or apoplexy 
— the nervous strain of big business, you know. [Enter 
George and iakee hie place at table.'] 

George. Well, the answer is on its way. I shall be 
glad to visit New York. I can see the publishers, too, 
about my book. 

Doctor. You can leave that work now to the fellows 
that have to do it. 

George. I don't feel that way about my new book. 
[Earnestly.] But I am glad I don't have to be a literary 
hack. [To Banion.] How long should it be, before I 
get returns from the estate? 



26 SIX SHORT PLAYS 

Banion. Not long — only one heir. By the way, 
George, I will look after the legal matters for you. Not 
a word, now. You must let me do it — as your friend, 
you know. I want to be of help in your getting that 
fortune. 

George. Oh, thank you. 

Grosbeck. Meanwhile, if you need funds, just drop 
your I. O. U. in our bank for a couple of thousand, or 
as much as you need. 

George. Thank you very much. 

Doctor. I don't like the idea of your going to New 
York alone, in your present subnormal condition. I am 
going to plan to make the trip with you, and look after 
you on the way. I am acquainted there, and could stay 
a few days to see that you meet the right people. 

George. You are very kind. 

Mrs. Webster. [Entering.] Here's another tele- 
gram, Mr. Fraser. 

George. Thank you. Now who is this one from? 
[She hands him the message and goes out, holding the 
door ajar. George opens the telegram. A look of blank 
amazement comes to his face. He drops his head on his 
hands, his elbows on the table.] 

Grosbeck. No bad news, I hope. 

George. [Handing him message.] Read it! 

Grosbeck. [Reading aloud.] "Your uncle committed 
suicide. Estate insolvent. May we draw on you for 
funeral expenses. Haldane and Anderson." [Long 
pause. George continues with his head in his hands. 
Robert tries to look brave. Grosbeck, Banion, and the 
Doctor are visibly embarrassed. The sudden news does 
not dull Mrs. Webster's sense of thrift. She snatches 
the coffee-pot and cake from the table, and bears them 
haughtily out of the room.] 

Robert. Uncle Mark a suicide! I can't believe it. 

Grosbeck. [In an unfeeling tone.] Old Marcus 
evidently bet once on the losing side. 

Doctor. My word, but that is a jolt! 



MR. FRASER'S FRIENDS V 

George. [Looking up.] A literary hack, again! 

Banion. [Looking at his watch, and affecting sur- 
prise. ] Great Caesar ! Three o'clock ! I've had a client 
waiting for half an hour. 

Doctor. Three o'clock? You don't say. My office 
hours start at three. [Both get up and go quietly back 
of table to door, right. George, with head buried in his 
hands, does not notice them. They tiptoe out, closing 
door softly.] 

Grosbeck. [Briskly. ] Well, we all get hit sometimes. 
You must buck up, Fraser. Be philosophic! [Impres- 
sively.] Remember, you can't lose what you never had. 
See here. I've got that proposition in shape. [Pulls out 
a paper.] Thirty per cent, straight, and a guaranty of 
twenty-five a week. What do you say? 

George. [Without looking up.] I don't want to talk 
about it today. 

Grosbeck. Don't be stubborn, Fraser ! It's got to be 
yes or no today. If you don't want it, there are others. 

George. [As before.] Give it to someone else. I 
don't want it. 

Grosbeck. All right. That settles it for you. [Goes 
out right without a word.] 

Robert. [Moving into chair vacated by Grosbeck, 
and putting his hand on his brother's shoulder.] Don't 
take it so hard, George. 

Mrs. Webster. [Entering.] I'm going to ask you to 
get your things out by Monday, Mr. Fraser. 

Robert. [Turning.] Here! I'll take care of that. 
How much is it? 

George. [With a gesture of repression.] No, you 
don't ! [Rising, speaks with polite irony to Mrs. 
Webster.] I shall be delighted, Mrs. Webster, to vacate 
the apartment, by Monday. Really, I'm hoping to get 
out before. 

Mrs. Webster. And I want what's owing me before 
you go. And there's a dollar extra — coffee and cake for 
five. 



28 SIX SHORT PLAYS 

George. [As before.] Quite right, Mrs. Webster, 
and well worth it. I must say that you make excellent 
cake. [She gives him a look of mingled wonder and 
anger, and goes out, slamming the door.] 

George. [Cheerily.] Well, Bob, when can you and 
Betty be ready to start for New York? 

Robert. New York? What do you mean? 

George. I mean that we are going to have the time 
of our lives, while I am looking after the estate. 

Robert. But the estate is gone — bankrupt — the tele- 



gram 



George. Fiction, Bob ! Just a bit of fiction, to put 
them to the proof. It was the acid test. 

Robert. [Springing to his feet.] Then you haven't 
lost the fortune? 

George. [Smiling knozvingly.] I haven't lost any- 
thing, except my friends. And, as Grosbeck says, you 
can't lose what you never had. [curtain.] 



IN TOSCANA TAVERN 

A TRAGEDY 



CHARACTERS 

Mart a, proprietor of Toscana Tavern 
Antonio, neighbor of Marta. 
Elena, daughter of Antonio. 
Mario, the stranger. 

The action takes place between eleven and twelve o'clock, 
Saturday night, in the foreign quarter of New York City. 
Time: the present. 



IN TOSCANA TAVERN 

A TRAGEDY 

The curtain rises, disclosing a room used both as office 
and dining room. There is a door at the back, lead- 
ing into the main dining room, a door, right, leading 
to street, and a door, left. There is a table in the 
middle of the room, with lamp on it, four dining 
chairs and two easy chairs. There is a sideboard at 
left of door, back. Conventional dining room pic- 
tures are on the zualls. 

Marta sits at the table, zvith a ledger before her. There 
are bills, accounts, etc., on the table. She appears 
to be a woman of about fifty-five, with black eyes and 
gray hair. She is plainly dressed. Her cdrc-lined 
face and round shoulders tell of life's hard struggle. 
Her expression is one of bitterness and suspicion. 
She busies herself a moment, making entries in the 
ledger. A knock at door, right. 

Marta. Come in ! 

[Enter Antonio. He is a man of sixty, poorly 
but neatly dressed. He is a slight, mild man- 
nered man, with gentle brown eyes, and thin 
gray hair. He has a small package in his hand.] 
Antonio. Good evening, Marta. Here I am again, 
and you still at the bills. I must be early. 

3i 



32 SIX SHORT PLAYS 

Marta. Never mind. I'm done now. Sit down. 

Antonio. [Offering her the package.] Here's a 
birthday gift for tomorrow, Marta. Just a trifle. But 
you mustn't open it until morning. 

Marta. [Harshly.] Don't remind me! [She notes 
his disappointed look, and adds, more kindly, taking the 
package.] Thank you, just the same, Antonio. Will 
you have a glass of wine? 

Antonio. [Sitting down, left of table.] No, thank 
you, Marta. 

Marta. We will have coffee, then. Elena won't be 
ready until nearly twelve. 

Antonio. Thanks. I don't mind the coffee, if it's 
no trouble. 

Marta. None at all. I have it every night. A bit 
to eat with it? 

Antonio. Oh, no, thanks. Just the coffee. [Marta 
goes out door, back, and returns in a moment carrying 
a tray.] 

Marta. All ready now, in just a minute. [She puts 
tray on sideboard, places coffee pot, cups, etc., on table, 
and serves the coffee, then sits at table, facing audience. ] 

Antonio. [Sipping the coffee.] Ah! That's fine. 
Everyone says there's no coffee such as you get in 
Toscana Tavern. You've made a great success of this 
place, Marta, since — since you've had it alone. 

Marta. Since Pietro left me, you mean. Say it out ! 

Antonio. [Apologetically.] I didn't mean that, 
Marta. God knows I didn't. A friend that's known you 
all your life wouldn't say anything to hurt you. 

Marta. Oh, it's not what you say. It's what I feel. 
It's the life I've had to live, these eleven years. Work, 
work, and save ! And the place not paid for yet ! But 
he will never trouble me again. He's dead at last. 

Antonio. Good Lord! How? When? 

Marta. [Shrugging.] I only know what old Nori 
told me — in Chicago — some fever, he said. 

Antonio. [Moved.] Pietro Morselli dead! Poor 



IN TOSCANA TAVERN 33 

Pietro ! He had his faults, Marta. We all have faults. 
But we must think kindly of him now. 

Marta. [Coldly. ] I hate him the same as ever. 

Antonio. Marta, Marta! God forgive you for 
speaking that way of Pietro, now he's dead. 

Marta. [Bitterly.] Don't talk God to me! What 
has God done for me? Didn't I work every day, early 
and late, since we came to America? Didn't I wash 
dishes in the places where Pietro worked as waiter? 
We couldn't speak the language, and they paid us little 
enough, God knows ! And when my baby was born, I 
had to take him into the kitchen with me. It was seven 
years before we could get a place of our own — a poor 
one, at that. "Work hard," Pietro would say. "We will 
be rich some time." Six years later we got this place. 
I wish I had died first ! It was then I took that girl in, 
off the streets, so she could make an honest living. I 
believed in God, then, — in your God, Antonio. [She rises 
in her excitement.] And Pietro lost his head, and ran 
away with her, and took the money we had saved up 
toward buying the place — [With rising passion.] took 
the money, Antonio, — do you hear? the money! 

Antonio. [Rising, and speaking soothingly.] Don't 
Marta ! Don't think of those things now. 

Marta. [ With increasing bitterness. ] God did more ! 
The boy, Antonio ! You know how he stayed out on 
the streets, looking for his father till midnight, and I 
afraid he was stolen! I whipped him, and put him to 
bed. Next day he ran away! 

Antonio. But Marta — 

Marta. Everything went — the man, the boy, the 
money! Let them go! 

Antonio. [Earnestly.] Marta, whatever happens, 
never lose faith in God. 

Marta. [Cynically.] Oh, I trust God, Antonio, but 
not your God. [Resuming her seat and tapping the 
ledger.] See here, Antonio, I made money this week. 
That is the God I trust. 



34 SIX SHORT PLAYS 

Antonio. [Dropping into his chair.] Marta! Marta ! 

Marta. I am right. Listen. I remember what 
Father Petrello said once: "God will take care of you, 
Marta. Only trust God." Those were his very words, 
Antonio. And it's money that takes care of me. If I 
were a day late with my payment, do you think old Mecchi 
would take beads or prayers? Bah ! It's money they all 
want — money, money ! 

Antonio. [In a conciliatory tone.] Of course, in 
business, you know. [Breaking off.] Come now — don't 
be so unhappy. Besides, I've something to tell you. It's 
about Elena. How long has she been with you, Marta? 

Marta. [Indifferently.] You know as well as I. 

Antonio. To be sure, to be sure. Well, I'm thinking 
— only thinking, you know — of having her leave the 
restaurant, for a time at least. 

Marta. What is it? More pay somewhere else? 

Antonio. Oh, no, no ! It's not that at all. You see 
the poor girl hasn't had much education. I want her to 
go to the Sisters' School, and take piano lessons, too, if 
we can afford it. She has no time for such things now, 
and since her mother died, it's harder on her than ever. 
The young children need her, and I am in the shop all day. 

Marta. [Coldly.] Well, does she want to go? 

Antonio. No, that is just it. She's so fond of you — 
calls you "Aunt Marta," just as though you were her 
own kin. You must urge her to leave, Marta, for her 
own good, you know. 

Marta. You will spoil the girl, Antonio, with books 
and music lessons. She will make no better marriage 
for all that. And you can't afford it either, — now, can 
you? 

Antonio. No, not really. But we could manage 
some way. 

Marta. Beppe Rosani would take her now, and he 
has money. 

Antonio. But Elena doesn't want him. 

Marta. [Scornfully. ] So you let her choose! The 



IN TOSCANA TAVERN 35 

girl knows more than the father, eh? Had I married the 
man my father picked out, I would be a rich man's wife 
now. But I ran away with the worthless Pietro, and 
came to America. 

[Enter Elena. She is a handsome girl of twenty- 
one, with black hair, brown eyes, and good color. 
She wears a neat waitress' apron over a black 
dress. ] 

Elena. A gentleman wants to see you, Aunt Marta. 
He wants to know if you can give him a room for the 
night. 

Marta. [Rising.] We don't keep lodgers. Who is 
he? 

Elena. He says he's a stranger, just in on the boat 
from Galveston, and it's late now to look for lodgings, 
and he's willing to pay well. 

Marta. Such talk comes from the ones who go away 
without paying at all. 

Elena. I wish you would see him. He specially 
asked if Marta Morselli kept the place, and could he see 
her. 

Marta. Well, there's the spare room, if he is willing 
to pay. Show him in, Elena. [Elena goes out rear.] 
Now why should a stranger be coming here, Antonio, at 
this time of night? 

Antonio. Toscana Tavern is well thought of, Marta 
—didn't I tell you ? 

[Enter Elena and Mario. He is a young man 
of twenty-four, with black eyes, black, curly hair 
and mustache. He is well dressed.] 

Marta. You want to see me? What will the gentle- 
man have? 

Mario. Supper first, and I want you to keep me for 
the night — perhaps longer. 

Marta. You can have a bed, and it's our best. Our 
special Saturday night dinner is now being served. Our 
guests say it is good. 

Mario. I am sure it is very good. Where shall I eat? 



36 SIX SHORT PLAYS 

Marta. In the main dining room, or here, if the 
gentleman prefers. 

Mario. I'll stay here, then. [Marta places a chair 
at the table. She reaches for the lamp. Mario steps 
forward.] Let me help you, please. [She resents the 
proffered help, showing irritation, and puts the lamp on 
the sideboard. Elena spreads a fresh cloth on table, 
meanwhile watching Mario closely. ] 

Marta. [Significantly.] The gentleman was sent 
here, perhaps, by some friend? 

Mario. No, I am a stranger. [Divining her meaning. ] 
But I will pay in advance. Will you change this bill, 
please? [Takes out a large roll, and hands Marta a 
fifty dollar bill.] 

Marta. [Taking the bill.] Diablo! Have I so much 
change in the house? [She examines the bill critically, 
rubbing it in her fingers. She goes out, rear, followed 
by Elena. Mario takes seat at table, facing audience.] 

Mario. [To Antonio.] Well, my friend, are you 
one of the force here? 

Antonio. Oh, no. I'm only waiting here for my 
daughter. 

Mario. You live near? 

Antonio. Yes. 

Mario. Just two doors up the street, isn't it — opposite 
the engine house? 

Antonio. [In wonder.] Yes, but how did you — 

Mario. I was sure of it. You are Antonio Rizzi, the 
shoemaker. [Rising.] And I am Mario, the boy who 
ran away, eleven years ago. 

Antonio. [Springing up.] Mother of God! 

Mario. Sh ! Not a word to my mother, yet. I plan 
to surprise her tomorrow. 

Antonio. Mario ! Mario come back again ! I can 
scarce believe it. Oh! this will change Malta's life. 
Tell me about it, Mario, before she comes in again. You 
have prospered? 

Mario. [Boastfully.] I have done rather well, yes. 



IN TOSCANA TAVERN 37 

I have worked hard — first for others, then for myself. 
I have money in the bank, more in the business. [Sits 
down. Antonio also sits dozvn.] 

Antonio. God be praised, Mario ! Tomorrow will 
be a wonderful day for her. 

Mario. [Takes a bracelet from his pocket.] This is 
for her birthday, tomorrow. Madre will think me rich. 

Antonio. [Examining the bracelet.] Gold, dia- 
monds! How much is it worth, Mario? 

Mario. The stones alone are a thousand dollars. Let 
me tell you how I got it — [At sound of door, opening 
at back, he puts his finger to his lips. Antonio returns 
the bracelet, as Marta enters.] 

Marta. [Handing bills to Mario.] The gentleman's 
change. 

Mario. [Replaces money without counting it, and 
hands Marta a five-dollar bill] For the dinner and 
night's lodging. 

Marta. Dinner, one-fifty. That includes the wine, 
too. Room, two-fifty. Four dollars in all. 

Mario. Never mind the change. [Noting Marta's 
surprise.] Keep it on account. 

Marta. [Graciously.] I hope the gentleman will be 
satisfied with everything. 

Mario. I am sure to like it. May I use your tele- 
phone, please? I must arrange for my baggage. 

Marta. [Pointing to door in rear.] Through the 
door to the left. [Mario goes out.] 

Antonio. [Excitedly.] Oh, Marta! This is the be- 
ginning of good luck for you. A rich man in your house, 
on your birthday ! It's a sure sign, they say. 

Marta. What's the matter with you, Antonio? You 
get excited over nothing. I shall be lucky, if that bill 
isn't bad. I must take it to the bank, before he goes 
away. 

Antonio. Oh, he'll not go — I mean, not soon. He'll 
like it here, and stay some time, at least. Fine for you, 
Marta. 



38 SIX SHORT PLAYS 

Mart a. Did ycu learn anything about him, Antonio? 
What was he showing you when I came in? 

Antonio. A wonderful bracelet, Marta, all set with 
stones — diamonds. I'm sure they were diamonds. Worth 
a thousand dollars, he said. 

Marta. [In surprise.] A bracelet with diamonds! 
Are you sure they were real? 

Antonio. No doubt, at all. And the man's rich, Marta. 

Marta. [Suspiciously.] What would a man be doing 
here, with a bracelet like that? 

Antonio. [Hesitatingly.] Why, — it's for a lady — 
a present, you know. 

Mario. [Entering.] Well, that's settled. Now for dinner. 

Marta. [Obsequiously.] Sorry to keep the gentle- 
man waiting. But there's always a rush, Saturday night. 
I will look after the matter myself. You may come 
with me, Antonio. [Marta and Antonio go out, rear. 
Mario walks about the room, looking at everything with 
great interest, then sits down, right. Enter Elena with 
tray on which are various dishes, etc. She puts tray on 
sideboard, and looks steadily at Mario for a moment.] 

Elena. Mario ! 

Mario. [Springing up.] Elena! You know me. 

Elena. Yes, Mario, and I thank God and the Blessed 
Virgin for this day. Oh, Mario, I knew you would come. 

Mario. How did you know me? Eleven years 
change a boy of thirteen into a man. 

Elena. When you first spoke to me, something told 
me you were no stranger. When you talked with your 
mother, I was sure of it. Oh, she must know at once! 
[Starts for door, rear.] 

Mario. Wait, Elena. Listen. Tomorrow is her 
birthday — the day I went away. I will tell her then. I 
will give her myself as a birthday gift. 

Elena. Oh, Mario, I am so glad you have come back. 
[She puts the various dishes on the table.] 

Mario. And so am I, Elena. I have been planning 
on this for a long time. 



IN TOSCANA TAVERN 39 

Elena. And to be here on her birthday — what a 
surprise ! 

Mario. This will surprise her too, Elena. \ Takes 
out the bracelet, hands it to her, and seats himself at the 
table, facing audience.] 

Elena. [Admiring the bracelet.] Oh, how beautiful ! 
I never saw anything so fine before. It must have cost 
a good deal, Mario. 

Mario. It cost me nothing but a kind act. It is a 
strange story, Elena. One night I saw two thieves set 
upon a man in a dark street. I ran to help him. [He 
begins to eat.] 

Elena. [Serving him.] That was brave of you. 

Mario. They would have killed him to get this 
bracelet, and he did die later of his wounds. He gave 
the bracelet to me. He said it had brought him nothing 
but ill luck. 

Elena. What an adventure ! And what a wonderful 
bracelet ! 

Mario. Yes, don't you think she will like it? It will 
mean good luck to her. 

Elena. But your return will mean more to her. She 
needs you, Mario. 

Mario. I am going to make up for the past, Elena, in 
every way I can. When I ran away, I felt abused, out- 
raged. As I got older, I began to see that instead of 
being wronged, I had wronged her — had deserted her — 
left her to fight the world alone. 

Elena. You were only a boy, then. 

Mario. Yes, I deserted. I never felt it so clearly 
as tonight. Poor Madre looks fifty-five, instead of forty- 
five. She is gray and careworn. I could have saved 
her from all this. But she need never work again. I 
will take good care of her. 

Elena. And she will be happy now. [Pause.] Does 
the place seem the same to you, Mario? 

Mario. Just the same, only smaller, and dingy. 

Elena. And the people — you knew us all? 



4o SIX SHORT PLAYS 

Mario. Oh, yes, but you have changed. [With 
evident admiration.] My little playmate is now so — so 
tall. You are quite a young lady. 

Elena. Yes, yes. But tell me, Mario, why have you 
never written your mother? 

Mario. First, I feared I would be brought back — and 
then, foolish pride. [Eagerly.] Tell me about her, 
Elena, has she had a hard time? 

Elena. Of course, she has been unhappy. 

Mario. I mean has she had to work hard to make 
ends meet? 

Elena. It was hard at first for her to keep the place 
going. It pays better now, but she works as hard as ever. 

Mario. And why is that? [He stops eating.] 

Elena. She is most unhappy when idle. At work 
she forgets, she says. But you are not eating. Your 
dinner will get cold. 

Mario. I can't eat now. I've no appetite. 
[Marta enters at door, back.] 

Marta. Rosa needs your help, for a minute, Elena. 
[Elena goes out door, back.] Everything all right? 

Mario. [Beginning to eat again, with apparent relish.] 
The dinner is very good, indeed. This is a fine cafe. 

Marta. [Drily. ] A fine place for hard work. 

Mario. But surely you don't manage the place alone. 
You have children — a son, perhaps? 

Marta. [Coldly.] I have no one. [She serves him 
a glass of water, from sideboard. He smiles at her, as 
he takes the glass. She returns his look with cold in- 
difference. Enter Elena. Marta goes out rear.] 

Elena. She didn't know you? 

Mario. [Sadly.] No, not yet. Tell me, Elena, how 
long have you been here? 

Elena. A long time. Ever since you went away, 
almost. 

Mario. But you were so young then — not over ten. 

Elena. I couldn't help much, of course, but she said 
I was company. Oh, Mario, she was so unhappy. I 



IN TOSCANA TAVERN 41 

stay here all the time now, except Sundays. Father 
wants me to give it up. 

Mario. He thinks it is too hard for you? 

Elena. He thinks I ought to go to school. He wants 
me to have advantages, like other girls, he says, piano 
lessons, too. I had to give all that up, when I came here. 

Mario. [With suppressed emotion.] Elena, Elena! 

Elena." Now that you have come, I wouldn't be 
missed, perhaps. You will manage it all. Just think 
what you can do, Mario, now you are rich. 

Mario. Oh, Elena! I begin to doubt that. You are 
the rich one. [A pause.] Do you remember how we 
played in this very room, as children? 

Elena. Yes, Mario. 

Mario. Right over there, in the corner, you had a 
little table, and you would set it in fine style for the two 
of us, and Madre would make little cakes for you to serve. 
Do you remember, Elena.? 

Elena. [Softly.] Yes, Mario. 

Mario. [Eagerly.] And we planned just how we 
would run the restaurant together, when we grew up. 
Do you remember that, Elena? 

Elena. [Turning away in confusion.] I must clear 
up the table now. It is getting late. 

Mario. [Rising.] So, little comrade, when I ran 
away, you filled my place. You took the post I deserted. 

Elena. I was so sorry for her. I was sorry for you, 
too, Mario. 

Mario. Sorry for me? 

Elena. Yes. I used to wonder where you were, and 
I prayed you might not be cold or hungry, and I had 
faith you would come back. 

Mario. [Going toward her.] You good angel! I 
hope, sometime, to repay you for this. 

Elena. There is something you can do for me now — 
tonight, Mario. 

Mario. What is it? 

Elena. Don't wait till tomorrow. Let your mother 



42 SIX SHORT PLAYS 

know tonight. Let me tell her. I want to see her 
happiness. I shall not be here tomorrow. Let me tell 
her tonight, Mario. 

Mario. [A pause.] You may tell her. Your right 
is better than mine. 

Elena. Oh, thank you, Mario. You make me so 
happy. Now to arrange it. Your room is there. 
[Pointing to door left.] Father and I will go home at 
once, and I will bring the flowers I have for her birthday. 
We will be back soon. You are to retire as though 
nothing had happened. Leave the rest to me. If you 
fall asleep, your mother will surely waken you. [Holds 
out her hand.] Now good night, and happy dreams. 

Mario. [Taking both her hands in his.] Good night, 
Elena. God bless you and keep you. [Mario goes out 
door left.] 

Elena. How excited I am over all that has happened ! 
My cheeks burn so ! [A pause. ] Father is right. I 
must go to school again. Now to work. [She begins to 
clear up table, putting things in order. Enter Marta 
and Antonio.] 

Antonio. Not done yet, Elena? Where is the 
stranger? 

Elena. Gone to his room. 

Antonio. He must be tired after so long a journey. 

Marta. Long journey, indeed! I do believe you 
would think him from the moon, if he said so, Antonio. 

Antonio. [Significantly.] I know more about him, 
perhaps, than you think I do. Wonderful things happen 
sometimes, Marta. 

Marta. [Ironically.] A thousand-dollar bracelet! 
We'll have the police here tomorrow. 

Antonio. [With enthusiasm.] Just you remember 
what I said about good luck, Marta. 

Marta. Luck, bah! Drudge and slave! Work till 
I drop ! That's my luck. A diamond bracelet for some 
idle hussy ! No doubt he stole it. 

Elena. [Nervously.] Father, I'm ready now. Let 



IN TOSCANA TAVERN 43 

us go. Good night, Aunt Marta. [Elena and Antonio 
go toward door right.] 

Antonio. [At the door.] You will see that I am a 
good prophet, this time. Good night, Marta. [Elena 
and Antonio go out, right. Marta looks after them a 
moment. A look of greedy cunning comes into her face. 
She goes quietly to door, left, listens at keyhole, turns 
the knob softly, opens the door a little, looks in, and 
listens. She closes the door again, and stands irresolute. 
She goes to street door and listens, then to door, rear, 
and listens. Then she goes to sideboard, opens a drawer, 
takes out a dagger, and hides it in her bosom. She opens 
door left, again, and goes stealthily in. Long pause, then 
sound of a struggle.] 

Mario. [From within.] Murder! Help! Oh, help! 

[Marta rushes out. Her hair is disheveled, her 

face drawn, a wild look in her eyes. She is 

shaking with excitement. She has the bracelet 

in her hand.] 

Mario. [From within.] Help! Oh, God! I am 
dying! [Marta starts back in terror. From within is 
heard sound of unsteady steps. Mario staggers in. He 
is in his shirt sleeves, his hair disordered, his face drawn 
with pain and wonder. Marta shrinks farther back. 
She still holds the bracelet.] 

Mario. [In agonized tones.] You — you! Oh, 
Madre! Don't you know me? I am Mario, your boy. 

Marta. [Putting her hands to her head. ] No, no ! 
Not Mario ! Not my boy ! God, I shall go mad ! 

Mario. [Holding out his hands.] I am Mario — come 
back to you. [He falls to the floor.] 

Marta. [Rushes to him, and kneels by his head.] 
My boy! Mario! Oh, oh! [Raising her arms.] Kill 
me now, oh God! Strike me dead! 

Mario. You didn't know — you didn't know. [Noise 
at street door right. Antonio and Elena hurry into the 
room. Elena is carrying lilies.] 

Antonio. [Entering.] We heard a cry. [Coming 



44 SIX SHORT PLAYS 

to center.] Blood! Oh, Mother of God! What has 
happened? 

Marta. [Moaning.] I — oh, oh! 

Mario. A thief stabbed me — the window was open. 

Elena. [Drops the lilies at Mario's feet, and cries 
in grief and anguish. ] Mario, Mario ! Holy Virgin ! 
And the first night in your mother's house ! 

Mario. [With effort.] Forgive me, Madre, for 
running away. 

Marta. [Moaning hysterically. ] Let me die ! Let 
me die ! 

Mario. [With great effort.] Kiss me, Madre. Put 
your hand on my head and pray for me — as you did when 
I was little. I am going to sleep — now — [His head 
falls on her lap, his body relaxes. All note the change. 
Antonio pulls off his cap. ] 

Marta. [Screaming and throwing herself across 
Mario's body.] Mario! [Elena and Antonio cross 
themselves and kneel. Elena's lips move in prayer. 
The curtain falls slowly. ] 



ONESIMUS 

A BIBLICAL PLAY 



CHARACTERS 

Philemon, head of the church at Colossa. 
Apphia, his daughter. 
Archippus, his steward. 
Pashur, a money lender. 
Onesimus, a runaway slave. 

The action takes place at Colossce, in the autumn of 63 
A. D. 



ONESIMUS 

A BIBLICAL PLAY 

The curtain rises, disclosing the portico of Philemon's 
house. There is a bench, left front. Philemon is 
walking to and fro, showing sorrow and dejection. 
Archippus looks on, with respect and compassion. 

Philemon. I am the man that hath seen affliction by 
the rod of His wrath. He hath led me and brought me 
into darkness, but not into light. Surely against me He 
is turned; He turneth his hand against me all the day. 
[Beats his breast.] He hath hedged me about, that I 
cannot get out. He hath made my chain heavy. He 
hath turned aside my ways, and pulled me to pieces. He 
hath made me desolate. [Beats his breast.] 

Archippus. The Lord will not cast off forever: but 
though he cause grief, yet will He have compassion 
according to the multitude of His mercies. For He doth 
not afflict willingly, nor grieve the children of men. 

Philemon. Archippus, I am utterly undone. My 
goods are wasted, and my head bowed down. Would 
Paul were here to help me ! 

Archippus. Long hath it been since we had tidings 
of him. 

Philemon. I do fear that Stephen's fate hath com- 
passed him. 

Archippus. His counsel still abideth. We must be 
strong in the Lord, and in His mighty power. 

47 



48 SIX SHORT PLAYS 

Philemon. Yea, we must put on the whole armor 
of God, that we may be able to withstand in the evil day, 
and having done all, to stand. Hast heard aught touching 
Onesimus ? 

Archippus. Naught save this report; he joined a 
Phrygian cohort, setting out for Rome. 

Philemon. The base, ungrateful slave! 

Archippus. So young and fair to look upon, but 
Satan filled his heart. 

Philemon. I held him as a hired servant rather than 
a slave, and thus did he requite me: he stole my goods 
and ran away. All my misfortunes come from his 
iniquity. 

Archippus. True, our affliction hath been grievous 
from that day. 

Philemon. And each woe doth beget a greater. 
Now is the greatest come. It was an evil day when I 
sought help of Pashur. 

Archippus. Yea, that which I feared hath come 
upon us. 

Philemon. I am in his dept a thousand talents, which 
must be paid straightway with usury. And I have naught 
to pay withal. Today he comes to reckon with me, and 
my bond is forfeit. 

Archippus. [In distress.] But will he not have 
patience with thee yet awhile, till thou canst pay him all ? 

Philemon. Nay, good Archippus, he is a Pharisee. 
He doth demand strict justice; mercy knoweth he not. 

Archippus. And thou canst not discharge the bond ! 

Philemon. I shall be thrown into prison, and not 
come forth, until I have paid the uttermost farthing. It 
is the law. 

Archippus. [Beating his breast.] Woe, woe unto 
this house ! [Pause. ] Good master, give me leave to go 
straightway unto the brethren. Perchance they may de- 
liver thee from this Pharisee. 



ONESIMUS 49 

Philemon. Go, and God's peace be with thee. Tax 
not the brethren overmuch for me. 

Archippus. God's peace be with thee, Master! 
[Makes obeisance, by bending the body forward, hands 
outstretched before him, palms down, and then goes out, 
right. Enter Pashur from left.] 

Pashur. Greetings, good Philemon, and peace be 
with thee! 

Philemon. And peace to thee! 

Pashur. The time for reckoning hath come, good 
Philemon. Thou dost owe a thousand talents with the 
usury. Today thy bond is forfeit. 

Philemon. Alas ! Have patience with me yet 
awhile, and I will pay thee all. 

Pashur. The covenant reads payment for today. 
Tomorrow is the first of Tizri. It is not lawful to con- 
sider business during the Feast of Trumpets. 

Philemon. I cannot pay thee now. Forbear a little. 

Pashur. Thus do ye Christians set at naught both 
law and justice, and covenants are meaningless. And yet 
ye rail at us, who are most strict in our observances. 
God ruleth the world by law and order, and hath done 
so since first he laid the earth's foundation. The sun 
ever cometh at the appointed time. The tides rise and 
fall in measured flow. The month of Nisan bringeth 
flowers, and winter's cold taketh them away. The vine 
and fig tree yield their fruits, according to their season. 
And sun and tide and flower and fruit obey God's law. 
And so among the tribes that fill the earth, God hath a 
chosen one, whose sons love law and order, speak truth, 
keep faith, fulfill. 

Philemon. Have mercy ! [A pause. Pashur walks 
to and fro. Apphia appears at curtained door, rear.] 

Pashur. Thou mayest discharge the bond after this 
fashion. Thou hast a daughter, fairest of all the 
Phrygian maidens. She hath found great favor in mine 
eyes. Give her to me, and take thy bond. 



50 SIX SHORT PLAYS 

Philemon. [In astonishment.] What sayest thou, 
Pashur? 

Pashur. Give me Apphia to wife, and take thy bond. 

Philemon. How canst thou, a Pharisee, ask this thing? 

Pashur. O that she might be mine! I long for her, 
and sigh for her. She is the rose of Sharon and the lily 
of the valleys. 

Philemon. This cannot be. 

Pashur. The debt will thus be paid. I will do more. 
I will restore thy broken fortunes. 

[Apphia disappears.] 

Philemon. She will not, cannot, marry an unbeliever. 

Pashur. I pray thee, give her to me. My parents 
will then come to thee, and make offer for her, and the 
espousal be confirmed by vows and presents. Oh, give 
consent, Philemon. Thou hast the right and power to 
dispose of her as thou wishest. 

Philemon. I cannot. We Christians do not hold 
that custom. She shall choose a man for her husband. 
I have said it. It is a vow. Nor would I have her wed 
to one like thee. 

Pashur. Because I bow not to the man of Galilee. 

Philemon. He is the true Messiah. 

Pashur. A good rabbi, verily, who taught great 
truths. But do not our own rabbis teach the same? 
It was great Hillel, our first Nasi, who said, "Do not 
unto others what thou wouldst not have done unto 
thyself." And this before the Nazarene was born. Give 
me the maiden, Philemon. Have peace and comfort for 
thine old age. 

Philemon. Nay, I cannot. No more of this, I pray. 
I am thy bondsman, debtor, yea, thy slave. Do with me 
as thou wilt. One boon I ask. Give me a little time to 
set my house in order. I will not tarry long. And now 
farwell. God's peace be with thee ! 

Pashur. I would have saved thee this. Peace and 
farewell! [Pashur goes out left.] 



ONESIMUS 51 

Philemon. O God, in the multitude of thy mercy 
hear me. Let not the waterflood overflow me, neither 
let the deep swallow me up, and let not the pit shut her 
mouth upon me. And hide not thy face from thy servant, 
for I am in trouble. Cast me not off in the time of old 
age; forsake me not when my strength faileth. 

[Enter Apphia quietly from back. Philemon 
does not see her, but beats his breast in grief. ] 

Apphia. [Goes to him and puts her hand on his arm.] 
My father! 

Philemon. O daughter, ruin hath come upon us. 
Ruin doth destroy our house, and affliction is our portion. 
My bond to Pashur I cannot redeem. I shall be sold in 
slavery. O Apphia, Apphia, my daughter, that thou 
shouldst beg thy bread from strangers. 

Apphia. Yet have I not seen the righteous forsaken, 
nor his seed begging bread. 

Philemon. There is no time for our deliverance. 
Today are we undone. Tonight the stars will look on 
me in bondage. 

Apphia. God will deliver us. Did he not lead our 
fathers through the flood? Did he not stay the sun over 
Gibeon? Did he not save Daniel from the lion's jaw, 
and David from the giant's spear? And surely he will 
rescue us. Have courage, O my father! 

Philemon. Thou hast a strange, calm faith, my 
daughter. Yet am I filled with bitterness. It is for thee 
I fear. Since Miriam, thy mother, fell asleep, thou hast 
been my only consolation. Now art thou left with no 
defense, with none to help or comfort. 

Apphia. Fear not for me, for I can make fine linen, 
or glean among the sheaves, if there be need, like Ruth. 

Archippus. [Enters from right and makes obeisance.] 
Master, I have spoken with the brethren, Rufus, Appeles, 
Gaius, and the rest, who gather on the Lord's day in our 
house. And Nymphas from the Laodicean church sends 
love and greetings. Each offereth all he hath. Alas, 



52 SIX SHORT PLAYS 

from all the sum is scarce a talent. They are rich in love, 
but poor in goods. 

Philemon. God bless them for the gift of love. 
Good Archippus, thy striving hath been in vain. Faith- 
fully hast thou served me. I owe thee much in substance 
and in love. Yet I must add to the great debt I owe thee. 
Behold Apphia. Be to her a brother in the flesh, as thou 
art in the spirit. Let her not want for bread. My heart 
is wormwood, and my throat is parched. [Brokenly.] 
Speech faileth me. 

Archippus. O master, sorrow fills me. How can I 
see the stranger take thy house and lands, thy fields and 
vineyards and thy pleasant groves? 

Philemon. God hath ordained it. 

Apphia. God will deliver us, in a way ye know not of. 
What said Paul? Watch ye, stand fast in the faith, quit 
you like men, be strong. 

Philemon. I will visit the brethren and receive their 
blessing, and give them thanks for what they would have 
given. Come with me, good Archippus, for I am un- 
steady. Affliction hath made me very old. God bless 
thee, daughter, for thy faith. Farewell! [Philemon 
and Archippus go out right.] 

Apphia. Farewell, my father, and be strong. 

Pashur. [Enters from left, and looks about.] I seek 
thy father. [He turns to go.] 

Apphia. Nay, tarry here awhile. I have somewhat 
to say unto thee. 

Pashur. Thy words are music to mine ears and heart. 

Apphia. My father is in thy debt. He cannot pay, 
according to the covenant. [Pashur bows.] It lieth in 
thy power to despoil him utterly. Thou wilt forgive the 
debt, if thou canst take me for thy wife. [Pashur starts 
in surprise.] Nay, dissemble not. I heard thee say it. 

Pashur. Apphia, hear my words. Naught separates 
thy father's fields from mine, save landmarks. I am rich 
in lands and cattle, corn and oil. Thou mayest be as a 
queen within my house, my only spouse forever. 



ONESIMUS 53 

Apphia. Thou hast great possessions, not true riches. 

Pashur. I am of ancient lineage, a grandson of 
Gamaliel, practised in all the arts and in the learning 
of our schools. 

Apphia. There is a wisdom thou hast not found. 

Pashur. [Pleading.] And, Apphia, I have loved 
thee from the time that we, as children, played together. 
If thou come not, no other ever shall. My hearth shall 
be forever desolate. 

Apphia. [Moved.] Stay! No more. Thou wouldst 
buy me for a thousand talents. Were not my father 
bound to thee in debt, I would say nay. 

Pashur. O Apphia, why say nay? Am I not honor- 
able? I do not kill nor steal. I do not bear false witness, 
and I defraud no one. I honor my father and mother. 
I tithe and feed the poor. What lack I yet? 

Apphia. The law of love, self-sacrifice. [Pause.] 

Pashur. [To himself.] The law of love, self-sacri- 
fice. [To Apphia.] Thou wilt not consent? 

Apphia. Pashur, I do consent. Albeit thou must 
know it is but for my father's sake and the love I bear 
him. 

Pashur. Thy love for him is great. 

Apphia. There is a greater love, that a man lay down 
his life for his friends. [She turns to door, right.] 

Pashur. [To himself.] To lay down one's life! 

Apphia. I see my father coming in the street. He 
must not know why we have so agreed. I shall say that 
I have chosen thee. Do thou keep silence. 

Pashur. [Steps toward her.] O Apphia! 

Apphia. [Raising her hand to check him.] No more. 
My father nears. Thou hast my promise, be content. 
[Pashur crosses to rear center. Enter Philemon and 
Archippus, right.] 

Philemon. Now, Pashur, I am ready to satisfy the 
bond. [Crosses left, and sits. Apphia goes to him and 
puts her hand on his shoulder. ] 

Archippus. Noble Pashur, thou are not of our faith, 



54 SIX SHORT PLAYS 

but thou art honorable. My master is infirm and old. 
It is but a little time till God shall gather him unto his 
fathers. I do beseech thee, take me, instead of him, to 
be thy slave. I am young and strong. 

Pashur. [In surprise. ] Thou wouldst serve for him ! 

Archippus. Yea, gladly will I take upon myself his 
debt. Take me. Oh, bring not his gray hairs in sorrow 
to the grave. 

Apphia. Entreat not to make this sacrifice, good 
Archippus. God hath pointed out a way; I have chosen 
Pashur for my husband. He doth forgive my father's 
debt, and ruin will not visit us. 

Pilemon. [Rises, starts in surprise, and speaks 
sternly. ] Nay, this cannot be ! [Sound of tumult, out- 
side, right. A trumpet is heard. Voices cry ; "What ho!" 
"Lay hold of him!" "Nay, stand back!" Archippus 
goes out right, quickly. Apphia crosses right and looks 
out.] 

Philemon. It shall not be, I say. My daughter can- 
not be unequally yoked with an unbeliever. 

Apphia. Hast thou not promised I should choose? 
Dost thou, a Christian, fail to keep thy vow? 

Philemon. [Pleading.] Daughter, consider well. 
Thou canst not choose this man. 

Apphia. I have chosen. 

Archippus. [Rushes in, speaking excitedly.] O 
master, master. It is Onesimus ! 

Philemon. What sayest thou? 

Archippus. Onesimus, the slave, hath come, and 
prayeth that he may speak to thee. [Apphia crosses left, 
and goes up to her father. ] 

Philemon. Call the guard quickly, lest he escape 
again. He must be flogged. 

Archippus. [Looking to left.] He cometh, even now. 

[Enter Onesimus. He stops before Philemon, 

and makes sign of servile obedience. This is 

done by placing the right hand on the forehead, 

lips, and heart, then dropping on one knee, ex- 



ONESIMUS 55 

tending hands, first forward, palms downward, 
then moving them outward and backward.] 

Onesimus. Pardon, master, pardon! 

Philemon. [In wrath.] Base and unprofitable slave ! 

Onesimus. Base and unprofitable, yea, worse, hating 
the light, and loving darkness. Visit thy wrath upon me. 
But first, I pray, hear a letter that I am charged to read 
to thee. 

Philemon. Who sends me tidings by a slave? 

Onesimus. Paul, who was Saul of Tarsus once, but 
now a follower of the Nazarene, thy brother and mine. 

Philemon. Thank God for word from Paul! How 
doth he fare? Where is he? Speak! 

Onesimus. He is at Rome, a prisoner in chains. 
[Pause. All start and show sorrow.] Command me, 
master, now to read the letter. 

Philemon. Read straightway, slave. [Archippus 
sits again.] 

Onesimus. [Rises, steps back, takes a scroll from his 
bosom and reads.] "Paul, a prisoner of Jesus Christ and 
Timothy, our beloved brother, unto Philemon, our dearly 
beloved, and fellow laborer, and to our beloved Apphia, 
and Archippus, our fellow soldier, and to the church in 
thy house : Grace to you, and peace from God our 
Father, and the Lord Jesus Christ. I thank my God, 
making mention of thee always in my prayers, hearing of 
thy love and faith, which thou hast toward the Lord 
Jesus, and toward all the saints. I beseech thee for my 
son Onesimus, whom I have begotten in my bonds." 

Archippus. [Interrupting.] What saith he touching 
Onesimus? 

Philemon. Peace, Archippus, and thou, Onesimus, 
read on. 

Onesimus. [Continues reading.] "Which in time 
past was to thee unprofitable, but now profitable to thee 
and me: whom I would have retained with me, that in 
thy stead he might have ministered unto me in the bonds 
of the gospel : but without thy mind would I do nothing, 



56 SIX SHORT PLAYS 

that thy benefit should not be as it were of necessity, but 
willingly. For perhaps he therefore departed for a 
season, that thou shouldst receive him forever; not now 
as a servant, but above a servant, a brother beloved, 
specially to me, but how much more unto thee, both in 
the flesh, and in the Lord." 

Philemon. [Rises, starting forward.] Hold, Onesi- 
mus! Thou didst read, "a brother in the Lord." Doth 
it so stand? 

Onesimus. Yea, master, I am a Christian. 

Philemon. O praise the Lord, bless his holy name ! 

Archippus. Amen and amen ! 

Philemon. [Eagerly.] Speak on, Onesimus, of 
Paul, and of thyself. How earnest thou to find the Way? 
[Philemon sits again.] 

Onesimus. Master and brethren, hear me. I served 
in Rome as a centurion. I kept watch at the prison gate, 
and thus fell in with Paul, and heard his story: how he 
had erstwhile persecuted the brethren ; how on the way 
to Damascus, he had seen the risen Lord; how he was 
obedient unto the heavenly vision ; how he ministered for 
Christ, labored abundantly, oft suffered forty stripes, 
save one, was beaten with rods, stoned, suffered ship- 
wreck ; how he journeyed much in peril of robbers, of 
his own countrymen, and of false brethren, in peril of 
the sea and wilderness. 

Philemon. God hath kept him from falling. 

Onesimus. Many in Rome heard him gladly. Some 
of the soldiers did forsake their sins ; some from the 
palace came to Christ. 

Philemon. The Master's teaching from the mouth 
of Paul hath mighty power. 

Onesimus. The Master's spirit in Paul's life doth 
move men's hearts; thus mine was moved. His words 
had gone deep in my soul ; I was sore vexed and troubled 
by my load. One night, as I held watch before the gate, 
I heard Paul and the others singing hymns. And lo! 
about the seventh hour a great light shone about me : and 



ONESIMUS 57 

looking whence the light had come, I saw King Jesus ! 
Trembling and much afraid, I cried, "Lord, what shall 
I do?" He smiled and said, "Onesimus, follow me." 
I fell upon my knees and on my face, as in a swoon. 
When I arose, darkness again covered me. The great 
light shone within. 

Pashur. [To himself.] The light within! 

Onesimus. I shall be his witness unto all men of 
what I have seen and heard. Therefore, do I come to 
make amends, to bow before thy punishment, to serve 
thee faithfully, as thy slave, forever. [Makes profound 
obeisance, as before, and kneels.] • 

Philemon. [Rising, goes to Onesimus.] A slave no 
longer! I do set thee free. As thou art free in Christ, 
so art thou free in body, Onesimus, my brother. [Em- 
braces Onesimus and kisses his cheek.] 

Onesimus. Even so, master, still I serve thee gladly. 

Pashur. Hearken ye all to me. Apphia, here is thy 
father's bond. Tear it to pieces. He owes me naught. 
And Apphia, before God and these witnesses, I do release 
thee from thy promise. 

Apphia. Dost release me ! 

Pashur. Yea, thou shalt not sacrifice thyself. My 
love is now so great that I do give thee up. Thou art free. 

Apphia. [Gently, extending her hands toward him.] 
Pashur, good Pashur! 

Pashur. Nay, refrain. I am unworthy to receive thy 
thanks. Thy blessing give me. 

Philemon. What meaneth this, good Pashur? 

Pashur. I have chosen the way of truth. I — I, too, 
am a Christian. 

Philemon. O Pashur, thou art a chosen vessel to 
bear his name before the Gentiles, and kings, and the 
children of Israel. 

Onesimus. Amen ! 

Pashur. I will humbly follow the Nazarene all my 
days. 



58 SIX SHORT PLAYS 

Apphia. [Crossing to Pashur, takes his hand.] But 
not alone, for I will go with thee. 

Philemon. Lord, now lettest thou thy servant depart 
in peace, according to thy word. 

Onesimus. Nay, not yet. Children's children are the 
crown of old men; and the glory of children are fathers. 

Apphia. Set me as a seal upon thine heart, as a seal 
upon thine arm : for love is strong as death. 

Pashur. Many waters cannot quench love, neither 
can the floods drown it. 

Onesimus. Hear ye Paul's closing words; he doth 
send his benediction. , [The others bow their heads as 
Onesimus, with outstretched hand, reads.] "The grace 
of our Lord Jesus Christ be with your spirits. Amen." 



the curtain falls slowly 



THE BARGAIN 

A TRAGICOMEDY 



CHARACTERS 

Mrs. Pringle Mrs. Relling 

Mrs. Carvel Rev. Mr. Morehouse 

The action takes place in the Pringle home, in a small 
town in California. 



THE BARGAIN 

A TRAGICOMEDY 

A simply furnished living room. There is a table in center, 
various chairs, etc. As curtain rises, Mrs. Pringle 
is disclosed, dusting the room, and setting things to 
rights. She is a woman of forty, thin and angular, 
hair slightly gray. She has arched eyebrows, which 
give her an air of constant expectancy, and her whole 
expression is one of keen curiosity. She is plainly 
dressed. 

Knock at door, right. She steps to door, left, and throws 
out the dust cloth and feather duster, then goes to 
door right, and admits Mrs. Carvel. The latter is 
a woman between fifty and fifty- five. She is 
ordinary looking, stout, and with a melancholy ex- 
pression. Like Mrs. Pringle, she is of the middle 
class. She carries a plate of cookies in her hand. 

Mrs. Pringle. Well, for pity's sake ! Come in, Mrs. 
Carvel. I was just wishing someone would come. I 
haven't seen a soul to speak to since Jim left, at six 
this morning. And here you are, bringing me cookies 
again. [Takes the plate.] Come, sit down! [As Mrs. 
Carvel is about to take chair, right.] No, take this chair. 
[Indicating rocker, back of table.] It will fit you better. 

Mrs. Carvel. [Seats herself as directed.] Well, I've 
been trying to get over for some time, but something 

61 



62 SIX SHORT PLAYS 

always prevents. I made cookies this morning, and 
planned right then to bring you some. I hope you like 'em. 

Mrs. Pringle. [Who has been eating one.] They 
are just fine! It is so good to have something now and 
then that you don't make yourself. But goodness ! This 
is twice you have brought me things, since I took you over 
anything. 

Mrs. Carvel. No, you brought me something last. 
Don't you remember the raised doughnuts? 

Mrs. Pringle. Was that after you brought over the 
fig cake? [Seats herself, left.] 

Mrs. Carvel. Yes, it was the day before the girls came. 

Mrs. Pringle. I guess you are right. Well, I like 
to be neighborly, and I like to live near people who feel 
the same way. 

Mrs. Carvel. Yes, that is right. 

Mrs. Pringle. But it ain't in some people. Now 
there's Jim — a good man and a good provider. I'll be 
taking something across the street, and he'll say, "You 
are always giving things out, and nobody sends anything 
in to you." But I says to him, "If we do our part, others 
will do theirs, and we won't get the worst of it." 

Mrs. Carvel. I appreciate a good neighbor. I don't 
know what I would have done this last year, if I hadn't 
lived next door to you. You've been a friend I could 
come to and talk things over with. 

Mrs. Pringle. Yes, to be sure. I suppose you are 
pretty lonesome now, since the girls left. 

Mrs. Carvel. Well, not that, exactly. I was glad to 
have them come, and I'm glad they are gone. We get 
on together, all right, of course; but I didn't see them 
much, when we lived in the same town. They don't 
understand things here. I couldn't talk to them as I do 
to you. 

Mrs. Pringle. [Severely.] Well, you need someone 
to talk straight to you. You are not looking well at all. 



THE BARGAIN 63 

You've been all worn out and run down, since the funeral. 
It's all over now, and you ought to chirk up, and enjoy 
life. 

Mrs. Carvel. Yes, yes, I know. But there are so 
many things to look after. 

Mrs. Pringle. As I said to Jim, you have no license 
to be in the dumps. We're right glad the old man left 
everything to you. How much will it be? 

Mrs. Carvel. Twenty thousand dollars. Maybe a 
thousand or two more. We can't tell exactly, until the 
estate is all settled. 

Mrs. Pringle. Twenty thousand! Some folks said 
it might be forty thousand, the old man pared things so 
close. Well, twenty thousand is as much as anyone needs. 
You can have everything you want now, and no worry. 

Mrs. Carvel. [Dejectedly.] There's always some- 
thing to worry about. 

Mrs. Pringle. Why should you worry, with all that 
money? But it's a bit strange that your uncle didn't 
remember anyone else? Now there's your cousin, Mrs. 
Relling. She did lots for him. Do you know I am 
wondering how she feels about the old man leaving all 
his property to you. And the Rellings are hard up, too. 

Mrs. Carvel. Do you think she expected to get some- 
thing? 

Mrs. Pringle. Of course she did. Didn't she go 
over to see the old man once or twice every week, that is, 
when she could get away? 

Mrs. Carvel. She came sometimes, so I could go up 
town. 

Mrs. Pringle. But didn't she take him jam and cake 
and such things ? And didn't she read to him, too ? And 
her sister-in-law, Mrs. Piver, told me that Mrs. Relling 
was to get half. Jim always said it was nip and tuck as 
to which of you would get the most out of the old man. 

Mrs. Carvel. Well, Ida might have made a deal with 
uncle to take the place. She had the chance. 

Mrs. Pringle. But she had a sick husband to look 



64 SIX SHORT PLAYS 

after. No doubt she figured on the old man dividing 
things up a bit. It must have been a hard blow to her. 
And there's that other niece, who took care of him before 
you came. 

Mrs. Carvel. Cousin Minnie, you mean. 

Mrs. Pringle. Yes. Couldn't they make a claim for 
taking care of him? Could they break the will? 

Mrs. Carvel. No, indeed. You see — well, I might 
as well tell you just how it came about. But you mustn't 
mention it. I don't want people to talk about it. Uncle 
had everything made over to me, before he died — made 
over in trust, they call it. 

Mrs. Pringle. But there was a will. I saw it in the 
paper. 

Mrs. Carvel. Yes, but the will didn't count. It 
didn't mean anything. 

Mrs. Pringle. Then why did he make it? 

Mrs. Carvel. He wanted people to think he left the 
property by will. 

Mrs. Pringle. For pity's sake! I don't understand 
it at all. What's at the bottom of it, anyway? 

Mrs. Carvel. Well, you know, when I came west, 
just after uncle had got back from the Old People's 
Home — 

Mrs. Pringle. [Interrupting.] Mighty sick of it, he 
was, too. He told me he would rather go to the poor- 
house, than give that crowd his money. 

Mrs. Carvel. Yes, six months was enough, there. 
Cousin Ida — Mrs. Relling, you know — couldn't take care 
of him, and he'd had an awful row with Cousin Minnie. 
So he sent for me. I was willing to stay with him till 
he died, and I told him so; [Emphatically.] but I was to 
have all the property. 

Mrs. Pringle. But what about the will business? 

Mrs. Carvel. You will see in a minute. Uncle was 
willing to give me half of the property. I said no. It 
would be all or nothin? for me. 



THE BARGAIN 65 

Mrs. Pringle. Why not all? He had no children. 
He had to leave it to some one. 

Mrs. Carvel. You know how close he was in every- 
thing. Well, he offered me two-thirds. I made arange- 
ments to go back to Iowa the next day. 

Mrs. Pringle. But you didn't go. 

Mrs. Carvel. He finally gave in, and said he would 
call a lawyer to have the will made, leaving me everything. 
I had been thinking it over, too, and I saw a lawyer about 
it. My lawyer said that uncle might change the will 
at any time, leaving me out. So I insisted that the 
property be left so I would be sure to get it. 

Mrs. Pringle. Well, for pity's sake! 

Mrs. Carvel. Then we had to start all over again. 
He said he wouldn't put the property out of his name, 
while he lived, for anyone. He would go back to the 
Old People's Home, first. I said, all right, and began 
to pack up my things. Then he coaxed, and he promised, 
and he abused me — what a fight it was — right up to train 
time. But I had my mind made up. He had to come to 
my terms, and we made the bargain. 

Mrs. Pringle. I wouldn't have believed the old man 
would make that bargain with anyone. 

Mrs. Carwel. What else could he do? Ida couldn't 
come, and Minnie wouldn't. He didn't know my sisters, 
and he was afraid of strangers. 

Mrs. Pringle. Well, when you had it fixed as you 
wanted it, why did he make a will? 

Mrs. Carvel. He wanted people to think that he 
controlled the property till he died. He was sensitive 
about it, and the will saved his pride. So don't speak 
of what I've told you — for uncle's sake, you know. 

Mrs. Pringle. I guess he didn't want people to know 
that you got the upper hand of him. 

Mrs. Carvel. [Nettled. ] It wasn't a matter of any- 
one having the upper hand. I was willing to do my part, 
and I had a right to know that he would do his. 

Mrs. Pringle. But you had the advantage, just the 



66 SIX SHORT PLAYS 

same. You could back out, if you got sick of the bargain, 
but he couldn't. 

Mrs. Carvel. [Stiffly.] You think it wasn't a fair 
bargain ? 

Mrs. Pringle. Fair enough. Of course it was fair. 
But after all, you had the best of it. 

Mrs. Carvel. What do you mean, Mrs. Pringle? 

Mrs. Pringle. I mean you got your money pretty 
easy. Now isn't that true? You got twenty thousand 
dollars for a year's work — less than a year, wasn't it? 

Mrs. Carvel. A year, lacking six days. But look at 
the chances I took ! The doctor told me that uncle might 
live ten years longer. It wouldn't have been much pay 
for a ten-year job. 

Mrs. Pringle. But it was a lot of money for one 
year. 

Mrs. Carvel. And then suppose I had died before 
he did? I took that chance, too. 

Mrs. Pringle. Oh, it was fair enough. I only meant, 
as it turned out, you got the best of it. 

Mrs. Carvel. And the way I had to fight with him 
over expenses ! I said once, "We are going to have what 
we want to eat, and if the bills are high, I am the only 
one who will lose by it." He never said a word about 
expenses, after that. 

Mrs. Pringle. Well, he was the closest man I ever 
knew. After his wife died, before he had anyone with 
him, I used to take him over things to eat, sometimes. 
He would always say, "Thank you, Mrs. Pringle." But 
do you suppose he ever offered me anything? Not he. 
When the black cherries were ripe, I thought sure he 
would give me some. So I took him over a nice berry 
pie. "Thank you, Mrs. Pringle," says he. "You are 
going to have lots of fine cherries," says I. "Yes," says 
he, "unless the birds get 'em!" Now how could anyone 
be neighborly with a man like that? 

Mrs. Carvel. I had to put up with it. Well, I'm 
glad I did my part. I looked after everything, mended 



THE BARGAIN 67 

his clothes, cooked the meals — and you know how in- 
convenient that kitchen is. 

Mrs. Pringle. You've got the gas stove in now, I 
suppose. 

Mrs. Carvel. No — not yet. 

Mrs. Pringle. Well, for pity's sake! And you al- 
ways saying if you owned the place, you wouldn't go two 
days without fixing up that kitchen. 

Mrs. Carvel. I've made no changes yet. I've had so 
much to think about. 

Mrs. Pringle. Oh, I forgot — there's your trip to the 
Islands. After your plans are made, you have to get 
your clothes ready. 

Mrs. Carvel. [Nervously. ] Yes, yes, there's lots 
to do. 

Mrs. Pringle. When do you start? Have you set 
the date? 

Mrs. Carvel. No, not exactly. You see — well, may- 
be I won't make the trip. 

Mrs. Pringle. Well, for pity's sake! You mean to 
tell me you are not going? 

Mrs. Carvel. [Hastily correcting herself.] I mean 
not now. Perhaps later — next year, maybe. 

Mrs. Pringle. And you planning that trip for six 
months ! And all the steamer folders and railroad time- 
tables you had ! I can't make it out. What's come over 
you? 

Mrs. Carvel. [Putting her hand to her brow.] It's 
been a strain on me, Mrs. Pringle. I feel it worse now, 
than I did before — before he died, I mean. 

Mrs. Pringle. Well, you can forget it, now. You've 
got your money, and I guess you earned it, all right. 

Mrs. Carvel. [Nervously.] Yes, yes, of course. 
But it keeps coming back to me. I can't forget it. I 
wish I could, but it comes back. 

Mrs. Pringle. What on earth do you mean? What 
comes back to you? 

Mrs. Carvel. [With increasing agitation.] I mean 



68 SIX SHORT PLAYS 

uncle. I think about him. No matter what I'm doing, 
he comes to my mind. I dreamed about him last night. 

Mrs. Pringle. For pity's sake! But don't let it get 
on your nerves. Thinking or dreaming either can't hurt 
you. 

Mrs. Carvel. [Turning toward Mrs. Pringle, and 
lowering her voice.] Did I tell you about uncle going 
out to work in the garden, the day before he died? 

Mrs. Pringle. No, what about it? 

Mrs. Carvel. I told him to stay in. It was a hot 
day, and what could a man of eighty-six do anyway? 
Well, he was stubborn, as usual, and went out with his 
hoe. And it wasn't long before he was all tired out, and 
leaning on the fence, waiting for me to come and help 
him in. And I just thought, if he would be so foolish, 
he could get back to the house as best he could. 

Mrs. Pringle. And you didn't go to help him in? 

Mrs. Carvel. No, — you see I didn't think he ought 
to be encouraged to do such things, — and how could I 
know that he would pass away next morning? 

Mrs. Pringle. [Eagerly, anticipating a sensation.] 
You don't think that had anything to do with his death? 

Mrs. Carvel. Oh, no, not at all. I asked the doctor, 
and he said, if the work had caused his death, he would 
have died in the garden. 

Mrs. Pringle. [Relaxing.] Oh, well, why should 
it worry you, then? 

Mrs. Carvel. I don't know, but it does. Every time 
I think of Uncle — oh, this is so foolish of me! 

Mrs. Pringle. Go ahead! What is it? 

Mrs. Carvel. Whenever I think of uncle, I can see 
him leaning on the fence, looking toward the house, and 
waiting for me to come help him in. [She shudders 
perceptibly. ] 

Mrs. Pringle. Well, if you are not shivering! Let 
me get you a shawl. It's not overwarm in the house. 
[She gets a light shawl, and puts it over Mrs. Carvel's 
shoulders.] 



THE BARGAIN 69 

Mrs. Carvel. Thank you. It is a bit cool. 

[Knock at door right. Mrs. Pringle goes to 
door. Enter Mrs. Relling. She is a woman 
of thirty-seven, with kind face and gentle 
manners. ] 

Mrs. Pringle. Come right in, Mrs. Relling. 

Mrs. Relling. Thank you, Mrs. Pringle. How are 
you, cousin Kate? 

Mrs. Carvel. Pretty well, thank you. 

Mrs. Relling. I just stepped in, Mrs. Pringle, to 
remind you about the old clothes you promised me. 

Mrs. Pringle. [Critically.] Well, I should think 
you had enough to do for your own family, without 
making over clothes for the foreigners below the tracks. 
The more you do for such people, the less they do for 
themselves. 

Mrs. Relling. It's the children I want to help. 
They are not to blame. 

Mrs. Pringle. I spoke to Jim, and he said there was 
an old pair of trousers you could have. He didn't say 
which pair, but I'll find out tonight. Do sit down. 
[Mrs. Relling, who has been standing, takes chair left, 
between Mrs. Carvel and Mrs. Pringle. Mrs. Pringle 
sits.] It's been a month since I've heard any news from 
your part of town. Stop awhile with us. We're going 
to have some tea later on. How are all your folks? 

Mrs. Relling. Everything is fine with us. You 
know John is about well now. The doctor thinks he is 
quite over the trouble, and says he can go back to work 
the first of the month. We are all so happy. 

Mrs. Pringle. Will he get his old job back? 

Mrs. Relling. No, not now. He will get less money, 
but the work is easier. Archie has a job, too, and he 
earns enough to make up the difference. 

Mrs. Pringle. But school begins in about a week. 

Mrs. Relling. I want him to stop then, but he says 
no. 



;o SIX SHORT PLAYS 

Mrs. Pringle. He'll stop quick enough, when school 
begins. Boys aren't so fond of work as all that. 

Mrs. Relling. He doesn't want me to go out nursing 
any more. But we will get along now. The worst is 
over for us. 

Mrs. Pringle. I was saying to Mrs. Carvel that it 
wouldn't have been amiss, if your uncle had left you a 
few thousand dollars, after all you had done for him. 
[Awkward pause. Mrs. Carvel and Mrs. Relling look 
embarrassed.] I'm not one to bring up anything against 
a person that's dead and gone. Not I. And I'm glad 
Mrs. Carvel is provided for, but what you did should be 
appreciated, too. 

Mrs. Relling. But uncle appreciated what I did. 
I'm sure of that. 

Mrs. Pringle. But you didn't get anything for it. 

Mrs. Relling. [Smiling.] I didn't get any money, 
you mean, and I didn't expect any. 

Mrs. Pringle. [In astonishment.] You didn't! 

Mrs. Relling. No. Uncle told me, when cousin 
Kate came, that he planned to leave his property to her, 
and that was right. Kate gave up all other plans, to 
devote her life to him. I was glad for uncle to have 
someone to lean on, and I was glad to have him provide 
for Kate. I have a husband and a son, — she has no one. 
[Long pause. Mrs. Carvel's head sinks lower and 
lower, during the preceding speech. Mrs. Pringle gasps, 
and looks from one to the other.] 

Mrs. Pringle. Well, for pity's sake! 

Mrs. Relling. Poor uncle! He tried to be just, I 
am sure of that, and he was appreciative. Every time 
I would read to him, he'd say, "Makes me feel good, Ida, 
to hear about the old town again." And he had a little 
smile of appreciation. Whenever I think of him, I can 
see him smiling, in his old arm chair, and can hear him 
say, "Makes me feel good, Ida." 

[Mrs. Carvel raises her head, and presses her 
hands to her temples as though in pain. The 



THE BARGAIN 7* 

others notice it. Mrs. Pringle starts toward 
her. ] 

Mrs. Carvel. [Nervously. ] Oh, my head! I told 
you I had a headache, when I came in. Didn't I ? 

Mrs. Pringle. Now that's too bad. Maybe I better 
get the tea right now. That will help you. [Starts 
toward door left.] 

Mrs. Carvel. No, please don't. It's warm in the 
room. [Throws shawl back.] Just let me have a sip 
of water. [Mrs. Pringle goes out left.] 

Mrs. Relling. [Goes over to Mrs. Carvel, puts hand 
on her cousin's head, and says gently.] You must take 
care of yourself, Kate, or I shall have to look after you, 
as you looked after uncle. 

Mrs. Carvel. [Shrinking back and speaking hysteri- 
cally.] Don't! don't! [More quietly.] I'm better now, 
thank you. [Enter Mrs. Pringle with glass of water, 
which she gives Mrs. Carvel.] Thank you, Mrs. Pringle, 
I'm all right now. [Knock at door, right. Mrs. 
Pringle goes to the door, and admits the Rev. Mr. 
Morehouse.] 

Mrs. Pringle. Well, if it ain't Mr. Morehouse. 
Come in, Pastor. 

Rev. Morehouse. I'm glad to see you, Mrs. Pringle, 
and you, too, Mrs. Carvel. I tried to call on you before 
coming here. How are all your folks, Mrs. Relling? 

Mrs. Relling. We're well, thank you. It's so good 
to have my husband up again, and he's starting back to 
work. Archie is working, too. We have much to be 
thankful for. 

Rev. Morehouse. Well enough to go to work, eh? 
Well, that's good. And Archie, too. That boy has good 
stuff in him. 

Mrs. Relling. And he doesn't want to stop for 
school. I wish you would speak to him, Pastor. 

Rev. Morehouse. I have talked with him, and I 
understand his viewpoint. I tell you that boy is seeing 
the big things of life at an early age. I hope he can keep 



72 SIX SHORT PLAYS 

up his school. But if it comes to a choice, I am not 
sure that he has not chosen the better part. 

Mrs. Pringle. [Emphatically.] I wouldn't have my 
George stop school to begin money grubbing at that age. 

Rev. Morehouse. But my dear Mrs. Pringle, the 
lesson of service, — willing unselfish service, is worth 
more than anything a boy can get in school. Service to 
others, cheerfully and kindly given — that is the Christian 
life. It is that spirit that has touched Archie. It was 
that spirit that prompted our good friend, Mrs. Carvel, 
to leave home and friends in the east, and brought her 
here to brighten the last days of a lonely old man. Truly 
God blesses us when we give, rather than when we 
receive. [Mrs. Carvel, with hand on her brow, lowers 
her head over the table.] 

Mrs. Pringle. [Rising.] We'll have tea, now. Ex- 
cuse me a minute, please. [She goes out left.] 

Rev. Morehouse. Well, Mrs. Carvel, how do you like 
California? After a year with us, you will never want 
to live anywhere else. 

Mrs. Carval. I don't know. I may go back. My 
mind is not made up. 

Mrs. Pringle. [Entering.] Tea will be ready in a 
minute. And we are to have some cookies that my good 
neighbor brought me. 

Rev. Morehouse. How are things at the plant, Mrs. 
Pringle? Will the men strike? 

Mrs. Pringle. They are right bitter, Jim says, and 
can you blame 'em? The owners are millionaires, and 
the men can't get living wages. Do you think it is right, 
Pastor, for some to be so rich, when so many can't make 
a decent living? 

Rev. Morehouse. Ah, it's a big problem. We must 
strive, first of all, for fair play for everyone. We must 
do away with the curse of ill-gotten gains. 

Mrs. Pringle. It doesn't trouble some people how 
they get the money. They enjoy it just the same. 

Rev. Morehouse. Don't be so sure of that, Mrs. 



THE BARGAIN 73 

Pringle. No one can profit by greed and oppression, 
and escape punishment, and he who takes advantage of 
the weak and helpless tortures his own soul. 

Mrs. Carvel. [Moaning hysterically, with head on 
arms which are outstretched on table.] Oh — Oh! [She 
rises unsteadily. The others start toward her.] No, no! 
It's my head, my head! 

Rev. Morehouse. My dear Mrs. Carvel, what is the 
matter? 

Mrs. Reeling. [Going to her.] What is it, Kate? 
Try to control yourself. 

Mrs. Pringle. Can I do anything for you, Mrs. 
Carvel ? 

Mrs. Carvel. No, it's my headache — much worse — I 
must go home. 

Mrs. Pringle. The tea is just ready now. A hot 
drink will settle your nerves. 

Mrs. Relling. No, she will be better at home. I will 
go with her. 

Mrs. Carvel. [Still hysterical.] No, I don't want 
you to go with me. I'll go alone. I'm always better 
alone. I don't want anyone with me, I say. [She goes 
toward door right, accompanied by Mrs. Relling.] 

Mrs. Relling. [Sympathetically.] Do take care of 
yourself, Kate. Take a hot drink, and lie down. Go 
to sleep, if you can. [Mrs. Carvel goes out. All re- 
sume their seats.] 

Mrs. Pringle. Well, for pity's sake! I never was 
so flustered. A nervous headache is just terrible. Now 
draw up, please. You mustn't go now, till you've had 
a cup of tea. [She goes out left.] 

Mrs. Relling. Cousin Kate is not herself, at all. I 
never saw her in this condition before. 

Rev. Morehouse. A year of anxiety and care has 
worn her out. She ought to go away on a trip. It would 
divert her. 

Mrs. Pringle. [Entering with the tea and cookies.] 
That's just what I tell her, but she doesn't want to go. 



74 SIX SHORT PLAYS 

[Serving the tea.] And mind you, she's been keen to go 
for six months. She's looked up all the routes, rates, 
and everything. Why, she'd bring excursion pamphlets 
over to us, and talk about her plans to Jim and me. Now 
she's all unsettled about it. 

Mrs. Relling. That's strange, isn't it? 

Mrs. Pringle. She doesn't know her mind about any- 
thing. She was fighting to get the kitchen fixed up, 
when the old man was living. Now she is free to do it, 
and she won't. 

Rev. Morehouse. She said something about going 
back east to live. I was surprised at that, for she put 
her letter into the church, only three months ago. I 
presume she wants to be near her sisters. 

Mrs. Pringle. Oh, she doesn't care anything about 
her sisters. That's not it. She's unsettled — just lost 
interest in everything. 

Mrs. Relling. [Rising.] Well, Mrs. Pringle, I must 
be going. I have two hungry people to get dinner for. 

Mrs. Pringle. But you don't have to start dinner 
now. It's not five yet. 

Mrs. Relling. I want to stop in and see Kate a few 
minutes, before I go home. I may be able to do some- 
thing for her. Poor cousin! She's had an unhappy life. 

Rev. Morehouse. And I must go too, Mrs. Pringle. 
I want to make another call in the neighborhood. 

Mrs. Pringle. Oh, wait a bit, Pastor, and speak to 
Jim. He will be here, any minute now. 

Rev. Morehouse. [Looking at his watch.] Well, I 
can stay till five. 

Mrs. Relling. Really, I mustn't stop a minute longer. 
Goodbye, Mrs. Pringle. Goodbye, Pastor. [She goes 
out right.] 

Mrs. Pringle and Rev. Morehouse. Goodbye. 

Rev. Morehouse. From what I hear, I judge that 
Mrs. Carvel had a trying time, taking care of her uncle. 
They say the old gentleman was peculiar. 

Mrs. Pringle. Peculiar! A good deal worse than 



THE BARGAIN 75 

peculiar, I'd say, if I allowed myself to bring up anything 
about a person that's dead and gone. Have some more 
tea, Pastor. 

Rev. Morehouse. Hard to get along with, I'm told. 
Well, what she did was all the more commendable. It 
is easy for us all to do agreeable things. I am glad her 
uncle appreciated her, and left her well provided for. 

Mrs. Pringle. Oh, she's got enough, but what good 
will it ever do her? Now if I were rich like that, I'd 
try to get some good out of it. I'd make a trip around 
the world. And I'd have an automobile, one of the best, 
too, and I'd have a servant to do the work. Not that I 
believe in showing off, but those who have money, should 
spend it. Don't you think so, Pastor? 

Rev. Morehouse. Of course — if spent wisely. 

Mrs. Relling. [Enters suddenly in great agitation.] 
She is dead! Cousin Kate is dead! [Rev. Morehouse 
and Mrs. Pringle start up.] 

Mrs. Pringle. Oh, Mrs. Relling! What are you 



saying 



Rev. Morehouse. Dead ! How did it happen ? 
What caused it? 

Mrs. Relling. It must have been headache powders. 
She was lying on the couch, and there was the empty box 
and some water in a glass. Oh, this is terrible ! 

Rev. Morehouse. Are you sure she was dead? Did 
you call a doctor? 

Mrs. Relling. I telephoned at once, but I fear she is 
beyond help. 

Mrs. Pringle. Oh, I am so upset! 

Mrs. Relling. Poor Kate! I can't think of her as 
dead. 

Rev. Morehouse. Think of her as gone to her reward. 

Mrs. Pringle. And leaving all that money! [She 
drops into a chair, and the curtain falls.] 



FIGS AND THISTLES 

A MORALITY 



CHARACTERS 



Richard Hastings, a playwright. 

Oscar 

Stephen 

Cordelia ^His friends. 

Madeline 

Agnes 



Roland 

Edward 

Victoria 

Fidelia 

Enid 



■People of his play. 



The action takes place New Year's Eve, in Richard 
Hastings' study. 



FIGS AND THISTLES 

A MORALITY 



[Victoria, as Prologue, comes before the curtain, 
and addresses the audience.] 



Hearken, sweet friends, our author bids me say 
A word of greeting — welcome to our play. 
Of all the treasured folk that fill his heart, 
Our author chooses Truth to play this part. 
I am the Prologue, and my part will be 
To sound the opening chord, to give the key 
Of what shall follow. Faithfully the stage 
Holds up the mirror to each passing age; 
And we may rightly judge the bygone years, 
By knowing the applause, the smiles and tears 
That cheered the actor, as he played the part 
That lighted up the mind, or stirred the heart. 
For, in the mimic world of joy and strife, 
Nothing is truth that is not truth in life. 

Likewise, 'tis true of him who makes the play: 
With moving power, his creatures cannot say 
The truth he doubts, nor can they ever see 
The vision, which to him is mockery. 
And dull and unconvincing is the part 
That has not glowed within the author's heart. 
For wise words are not spoken by a fool, 
And sweet streams flow not from a bitter pool. 

79 



80 SIX SHORT PLAYS 

Our lives are what we know, what we believe, 
And we are changed by what we take and give. 
Our very thoughts — the thoughts of others, too — 
Are pleading voices; be they false or true, 
They are the constant drops that wear the stone; 
For no one liveth to himself, alone. 

Our play, we trust, runs true to Nature's laws, 
And may our players please and win applause. 

[The Prologue bows, and with hand on the curtain, 
pushes it aside, following it to the left, as it is 
drawn, bows again, and goes off, left. A com- 
fortably furnished room is disclosed. There is 
a table left, front, a book case right, a sofa rear, 
and various chairs. There is an entrance rear, 
and one right. On the walls are pictures of 
Shakespeare, Moliere, and Ibsen. There are 
books and writing materials on the table. 
Richard Hastings is sitting at the table, facing 
right. He takes up his pen, stretches his arms 
and yawns, then puts his hand to his head, as 
though trying to think. There is a knock at rear 
door.] 

Richard. Come in! 

[Enter Oscar, Stephen, Cordelia, Madeline, 
and Agnes. Oscar is fat, with coarse, good- 
natured expression. Stephen is pessimistic 
looking. Cordelia is plump, gaily dressed, and 
with a profusion of jewelry. Madeline is 
more plainly dressed. She has cat-like eyes, 
suggesting shrewdness and suspicion. Agnes 
is a vivacious looking girl, much made up, and 
bold in dress and manner. All of the characters 
are about thirty years of age, except Agnes, who 
appears to be about twenty. Richard rises to 
greet them.] 



FIGS AND THISTLES 81 

Oscar. Here we are, Rich, the same old gang. 

Richard. Glad to see you all. [Shaking hands with 
them.] How are you, Oscar? Bless you, Cordy, how 
are you? 

Cordelia. I'm just fine, thank you. We've come to 
tell you about a plan for tonight. We are going to cele- 
brate New Year's Eve properly. But first of all, we 
want to congratulate you on your big play. It was 
simply wonderful. 

Richard. Not too strong, now. Put on the soft 
pedal, Cordy. 

Agnes. Oh, the play was just grand. We stood up, 
and waved our handkerchiefs at you. Didn't you see us? 

Richard. Yes, yes, mighty fine of you. [Shaking 
hands with the others.] How are you, Madeline? 
Thank you all for the flowers. Sorry I couldn't see you 
last night, after the play. 

Madeline. You were such a lion last night, no one 
could see much of you. 

Richard. How are you tonight, Steve? 

Stephen. Rotten, thank you. 

Richard. Sit down, sit down, all of you. What are 
we all standing around for? This is no reception. 

[They all sit, Cordelia nearest Richard, on the 
right. Next to her, Stephen. Agnes and 
Oscar on the sofa, and Madeline further to the 
right. Richard resumes his seat.] 

Oscar. Well, Rich, how many sizes too small did you 
find your hat, this morning? Are you down to earth, yet? 

Richard. Oh, I believe I am in my right mind by 
this time. 

Madeline. It was the biggest ovation ever given at 
the Federal Theatre. That's what the Times said. 

Richard. I'm glad it made a hit with you, anyway, 
and I'm glad you dropped in tonight, so I can thank you 
personally. Last night, you know, I had to talk to the 
whole audience. I don't remember a blessed word I said. 
But I hope I didn't talk and look as foolish as I felt. 



82 SIX SHORT PLAYS 

Now tell me, did the play deserve all that fuss, or is this 
a conspiracy to make me feel good? 

Madeline. Didn't you see the Times? 

Richard. Yes, it was fine. 

Oscar. The News certainly handed it to you, all right. 
Seen it? 

Richard. No, not yet. What did it say? 

Oscar. Well, here it is. Listen to this, all of you. 
[Reads from newspaper.] "An overflow audience 
cheered itself hoarse over The Cost of Conquest, which 
had its premier presentation at the Federal Theatre, last 
night. The plot is well contrived, and seems inevitably 
to work itself out, so sincere and compelling are the 
motives. The characters are finely drawn, and true to 
life. Rarely can the playwright invest his people with 
qualities in the abstract, and still make them real, living 
beings. In The Cost of Conquest, this is done as surely 
as if the piece were a morality, and still the characters 
are, throughout, sincere and human." — And there's a 
lot more. How does it strike you, for the conservative 
News? 

Agnes. Oh, it's just splendid. No wonder your 
friends are proud of you. 

Richard. You are all dear and sweet. But, as my 
friends, you can do me a greater kindness, than by merely 
praising my play. 

Cordelia. What do you want us to do, criticize it? 

Richard. Exactly. Tell me where it is weak. I 
know it isn't perfect. You have said so many good 
things about it, now tell me where it failed — where it 
didn't reach you. 

Stephen. When you get the crowd and the news- 
papers, it doesn't matter what individuals think. The 
play was a big thing, and they all fell for it. But as to 
characters being true to life, tell me this — why should 
Victoria make that explanation about her past life? 

Richard. You mean, why did she tell them the facts? 



FIGS AND THISTLES 83 

Stephen. That's just it. She could have told 
another story, and no one would have been the wiser. 

Oscar. She must have been one of those who tell the 
truth, when a lie would do better. [They all laugh.] 

Stephen. My point is, would any woman, in real life, 
tell what she did, knowing she would get the worst of it? 

Agnes. Come to think it over, that's right. In real 
life a person has to get by, in some way. 

Richard. I see your point. 

Stephen. And isn't Edward's character a bit 
strained ? Why should he give up so much ? Ever know 
a real man to do such a thing? 

Madeline. I certainly never did. In real life, peo- 
ple have to look out for themselves. 

Cordelia. But in plays, people can't be practical. 
They don't always act as we do. 

Agnes. Perhaps that is why we like to see plays. 

Madeline. Now let me give my comment — no criti- 
cism, mind you. To my mind, Enid is altogether too 
unsophisticated. You can't make me believe that any 
girl, of her age, is so ignorant of the world. A girl of 
eighteen knows what's what, all right. 

Richard. Now listen to me. I know exactly what 
you mean, and I am not surprised, either. I have had 
in mind the very comments you have just made. That 
is why I asked you to give your viewpoint. I have been 
thinking for some time that I made the characters rather 
idealistic. 

Cordelia. But the play couldn't have been better. 
Everyone went wild over it. 

Stephen. [Drily.] That's all right. People like 
fairy tales, but no one believes they are true. 

Oscar. Well, it's a great play, anyway. You have 
certainly arrived, as a playwright, Rich. All you have 
to do now is to write a play. You needn't worry about 
the rest. 

Stephen. You can't be too sure of that. Producers 



84 SIX SHORT PLAYS 

are mighty fickle, just like audiences. It's one thing 
today, and another thing tomorrow. 

Oscar. Listen to the grouch. 

Madeline. Well, you can't depend on anything in 
this world, till you get it, and then you don't know how 
long you can keep it. 

Stephen. How long does it take to get a play like 
that into shape, Rich? 

Richard. Oh, I started that play — let me see — nearly 
two years ago. It took some time to get it in shape, 
before I had it published, and it took a longer time to 
find some one to produce it. 

Stephen. How is the new one coming on? 

Agnes. A new play? Oh, tell us about it! 

Richard. There isn't much to say about it, because 
it's hardly begun. I have the idea all blocked out, but 
it's not going fast, at all. The characters don't seem to 
take hold. 

Stephen. Don't take hold? I don't quite get that. 

Richard. I mean the characters won't talk, that's all. 
I put them in position, start them out, and there they 
stand. [They all smile.] You needn't laugh. It's just 
as I say. The characters don't seem to have any initia- 
tive. I simply have to push them along. Now when 
things are going well, they take the lead, and talk so 
fast I can hardly keep up with them. 

Agnes. I can write a play, too, if all I have to do is 
to take down what the characters say. 

Richard. [Smiling.] Well, that's about all you need 
to do. But you know they change their minds, sometimes, 
and then their speeches have to be revised. They are 
like the rest of us. Only when we say something crude, 
we can't always revise it. 

Cordelia. Do you folks remember the New Year's 
celebration at Kruger's, just a year ago? 

Stephen. I remember I had a beastly headache the 
next day. 

Madeline. I'll never forget that night. 



FIGS AND THISTLES 85 

Agnes. [To Richard.] That was when we first met 
you. We didn't know you would be famous so soon. 

Richard. All the more kind of you to include me 
in your circle. 

Oscar. We know a good thing when we see it, Rich, 
even if it does look like a country preacher. I told Steve 
you'd be a live one, if you ever woke up. [All laugh.] 

Madeline. I'll never forget how the playwright 
looked, the first time I asked him for a cigarette. 

Cordelia. I can beat that. Once when I was thirsty, 
I asked Rich to get me a horse's neck, and he thought 
it was a meat order. [All laugh loudly, Richard joining 
in. ] 

Richard. I was some boob, sure enough. 

Oscar. Well, Rich, you are a regular fellow, now, 
anyway. You take your cognac like a gentleman, play 
a stiff hand of poker, and see the sights without blushing. 
Now for tonight. We've got a program that will give 
you a kick like a mule. 

Richare. Count me in, before you go any further. 
What is it? 

Oscar. Well, when we finish dinner — 

Richard. Dinner? It's after nine, now. 

Oscar. I know it is, but we're doing a stunt tonight 
that takes time. First, we went to a cafe for soup, and 
then to another, for another course, and so on. We're 
down to dessert, now, and one more place will finish it. 

Richard. Well, what then? 

Cordelia. Then we are all going on a slumming tour, 
de luxe, the best ever. 

Stephen. [Pessimistically.] We hope it will be 
good, still you never know how a thing will turn out. 
But it's been so beastly dull, we have to do something 
to get waked up. 

Cordelia. If it's like the last one, it will wake you 
up, all right. Now for my part. After the trip, you 
are all invited to my apartment for a chafing-dish supper, 
with some of the good old bonded stuff to wash it down, 



86 SIX SHORT PLAYS 

and then a quiet little game. We'll give the old year a 
good send-off, and start the new one right. 

Oscar. Hurrah for Cordy! 

Madeline. Cordy, you're a peach. 

Agnes. I told mother I would be home by twelve, 
sure. I didn't know it was to be an all-night spree. 

Madeline. Oh, you can fix it all right, if you try. 

Agnes. I'll 'phone her that I'm going to the theatre 
with some friends, and will stay all night with one of the 
girls. I'll 'phone my friend, too, and put her wise, so 
as to be safe. Goodness ! I forgot to bring a veil. 
Will I need one? 

Madeline. [Emphatically.] I should say you would. 
All ladies go veiled on such trips. I'll lend you one. 

Oscar. If it's as strong as our last trip, I'll take a 
veil, too. [All laugh.] 

Stephen. [Pessimistically. ] I'm always afraid of 
smallpox, or something like that, on these jaunts. 

Oscar. Oh, you are always taking the joy out of life. 
How do you get that way, Steve? 

Richard. I'll have to do some planning, too. I prom- 
ised Aunt Charlotte to breakfast with her in the morning, 
and then go to church with her. 

Oscar. Go to church? Good night! 

Madeline. Don't comment, Oscar, on a subject you 
know nothing about. 

Oscar. Oh, I know about going to church. 

Stephen. Who's been telling you about it? 

Oscar. I'm serious. It's a great thing — if you are 
troubled with insomnia. 

Richard. I'll send my aunt word that I can't come. 
I'm glad to have an excuse to get out of it. The poor 
old soul doesn't know how deadly dull it is in that house. 
I don't see how I stood it, when I lived there. 

Stephen. [Rising.] Come on, girls. Come on, 
Oscar. You come and have coffee with us, Rich, and 
then we're off. [They all rise. All but Richard move 
toward door, rear.] 



FIGS AND THISTLES 87 

Richard. You go on, and finish your dinner, and call 
for me afterward. I want to get this play going, if 
possible. I'll expect you back, soon. Remember now, 
you're down to dessert. Don't start all over again. Glad 
you dropped in. Goodbye, all. 

Oscar. Hope you get a million-dollar idea, Rich, 
while we are gone. We'll be back in no time. 

[They all go out, rear, and there are cries of 
"Goodbye," "So long, Rich," and "Ta-ta," as 
they pass through the door. Richard returns 
to his seat, picks up a sheet of manuscript, and 
stares at it, takes up his pen, puts it down again, 
and leans back in his chair. He stretches his 
arms, yawns, puts his head back, starts up again, 
and again relaxes. He is soon asleep. The 
lights grow dim and dimmer, until the room is 
dark. Immediately, the room begins to grow 
light again. Richard is still sleeping. At his 
right and front, stand Fidelia, Edward, Enid, 
Roland, and Victoria. All are in costume of 
medieval times. Roland is garbed like a knight; 
Edward, like a scholar; Victoria is in white ; 
Fidelia, in blue; Enid, in gray. All have a 
serious mien, and regard Richard sadly. ] 
Roland. [In a commanding tone. ] Wake up, Richard 
Hastings ! 

Richard. [Springs up, startled. He puts his hand 
to his brow.] You — you — oh! This is as I saw you 
last night ! 

Roland. Rouse yourself, Richard Hastings ! You 
have been asleep too long. 

Richard. [Fervently.] The play! You are the 
people of my play ! 

Edward. And we have come to say goodbye. 
Richard. [Puzzled.] To say goodbye? 
Edward. Yes, we are strangers to you now. 
Richard. [Still puzzled.] Strangers? 
Edward. Yes, that is why we are le.aving you. 



88 SIX SHORT PLAYS 

Richard. [Smiling incredulously.] But you cannot 
leave me. It is impossible. You are all characters in 
my play. You, Victoria, are my heroine. 

Victoria. You called me Victoria, but names mean 
nothing. Truth is what I stood for in your play, and, 
as such, I leave you. 

Richard. Why do you wish to go ? [He sits again. ] 

Victoria. I do not wish to go. I have no choice. 
You have disowned me. 

Richard. Why do you say I have disowned you? 

Victoria. There is no home for me within your mind, 
and in the chambers of your heart deceit and subterfuge 
have taken my place. 

Richard. Very well. If you go, I will create another 
character to take your place. 

Victoria. You cannot create another to take my place. 

Richard. Go, then, if you think that. [To Roland.] 
But you, Roland — you will not go. 

Roland. I played the part of Courage, fearlessly. I 
was brave and true. I championed the weak, and fought 
craven foes. I braved every peril for right and justice. 
But I can serve you no longer. 

Richard. Why should you not act for me again? 

Roland. I cannot. There is no cause or purpose in 
your heart that calls me now. Where are my comrades, 
who once with me lived in your fancy? 

Richard. Whom do you mean? 

Roland. Where is high Honor? Where is calm 
Justice? Where is young Chivalry? They were the 
brave companions who tenanted your heart with me. 
Now they are gone, and in their places, like honored 
guests, Compromise and Complacency are found. These 
will serve you readily enough. 

Richard. Compromise? Complacency? Are they 
such evils? 

Roland. They dull the edge of every virtue, and 
welcome every vice. 

Richard. How can you say I welcome every vice? 



FIGS AND THISTLES 89 

Roland. [Severely.] Look within, and find the an- 
swer. What are the things most welcome to your heart? 

Richard. [Rising, nettled.] Go, then! I can re- 
place you. 

Edward. And I go, too. In your great play I took 
the part of Sacrifice. Never again, I fear, will you need 
me. I take my leave, sorrowfully. 

Richard. You played your part so earnestly that I 
would have you play again. Why should you go? 

Edward. You have lost my spirit. I cannot serve 
where I am unknown. 

Richard. I know you well. You are Edward. 

Edward. You know only my name. Listen. I was 
once among those held dear to you. You loved me, and 
in your life I was a living thing. You denied yourself, 
and gave yourself unsparingly to make something great 
and beautiful. 

Richard. [Enthused.] Something great and beauti- 
ful ! Yes, my play ! Day and night I gave to it. 

Edward. True, you labored hard, but I gave the 
victory. It was I who taught you "to scorn delights, 
and live laborious days." 

Richard. [Musing.] To scorn delights, and live 
laborious days. Yes, I remember; but I tired of labor. 
I longed for the delights. I have had many pleasures. 

Edward. Pleasures, yes, but not happiness. What 
have your pleasures brought you ? Emptiness and weari- 
ness ! Losing me, you lost your zest for work. You 
lost inspiration. Without me, you will win no victory, 
enjoy no happiness. 

Richard. How can you bring happiness? 

Edward. Because I answer every call of duty, and 
make its accomplishment a joy. 

Richard. [Subdued but anxious.] No victory? No 
happiness ? 

Enid. As Modesty, I enhanced the charm and worth 
of all your women. I was the first to be repulsed, but 
I have lingered, hoping to be recalled to serve you. For 



90 SIX SHORT PLAYS 

I would add myself to every woman. No daughter of 
the earth will ever wear a richer jewel. And I would 
move all men to true humility. 

Richard. Then, Enid, you will stay, and grace my 
women. 

Enid. But you are pleased with what is coarse and 
bold. You smile on ostentatious show and vanity. I 
cannot live in such an atmosphere. Your women make 
me blush to know there are such women. The noise and 
glamour of your life have frightened my companions. 

Richard. Frightened them? How can that be? 
Who are your companions? 

Enid. Simplicity, Gentleness, Quiet, and all who make 
for Peace and Sacredness. 

Richard. [Eagerly.] And you will stay, if I sum- 
mon these? Oh, tell me where to find them. 

Enid. They live with Virtue, in the quiet places. 
They are as violets, fragrant, but unseen by him who 
reaches for the flaunting hollyhock. 

Richard. Oh, do not leave me ! 

Enid. I would that I might stay. Sadly, I say fare- 
well. 

Fidelia. I cannot stay longer with you, because you 
have denied me. I am Faith, known as Fidelia in your 
play. Once you walked by me. I was your shield, and 
through me you laid hold of things unseen. Then you 
believed in God, in God's children, and in all things good. 
But Doubt came to your mind, and you no longer saw 
God's hand and finger. No longer did you trust man's 
honor and woman's virtue. You banished my co-worker, 
Reverence, and scoffed at all things high and holy. 

Richard. [Agitated.] I have not fallen so low. No, 
no ! How can it be ? 

Fidelia. Your ideals have fallen, and no one can 
reach beyond the ideal he strives for. You have lost 
the vision of noble achievement. 

Richard. [Vehemently.] But I must achieve! I 
must ! Give me the vision again ! 



FIGS AND THISTLES 91 

Fidelia. How can I? When I have tried to creep 
into your mind, I find all strange. And of the things so 
dear to me your heart is empty, swept and garnished. 

Richard. Alas ! The things I could not see, nor hear, 
grew dim and dimmer, till they vanished. 

Fidelia. But I had filled your soul with sweet and 
wondrous things that do not hit the senses. You doubted, 
then denied, and then the spirit world was closed forever 
to you. 

Richard. Forever closed! [Resolutely.] No, no! 
You shall not go ! You cannot. [Takes a book from the 
table, and rapidly turns the pages.] Look! here you are! 
Roland, Edward, Victoria, Fidelia, Enid. [Clasps the 
book to his bosom, and speaks triumphantly.] I have 
you all ! You cannot leave ! You are mine, for I created 
you. 

Victoria. You summoned us to serve, but you did not 
create us. We are as old as Time, and we shall live until 
Time's book is closed, for we are deathless. You gave 
us names ; but we have borne all names, and spoken 
every tongue the world has known. Whoever calls us, 
with prophetic mind, with clean, strong heart and rev- 
erent spirit, him will we serve in drama, song, and story. 
We will follow no other. 

Richard. [In desperation.] Go, then, all of you! 
I do not need you. I can — I will call other helpers ! 

Victoria. But can you make a play with truth left 
out? 

Roland. What worthy deeds will your heroes do, if 
they have not courage? 

Enid. With every grace and charm, woman is like a 
thing deformed, if she lack modesty. 

Fidelia. He who has no faith shall have no vision 
of the future. [Richard drops the book.] 

Edward. You must lose your life to find it. Only 
he who gives self can conquer. 

Richard. [Pleading.] Oh, do not leave me ! Be my 
friends, my comrades, dearer than all other friends ! 



92 SIX SHORT PLAYS 

Help me to fashion true, valiant men, and sweet, gentle 
women ! Help me to create something strong and beau- 
tiful to give the world. Oh, say that you will stay! 
[A pause. The people of the play make no sign. He 
raises his hands to heaven.] Oh, help me, God, to put 
away all base, ignoble, mean things from my life. Take 
my little fame, — all else, and I will eat again the bitter 
bread of poverty and obscurity. But give me faith to 
follow truth, even to death,— courage to give self, humbly, 
to the uttermost. Help me, O God! 

[He sinks into his seat, and drops his head upon 
his outstretched arms. The players, with com- 
passionate looks, gently extend their hands to- 
ward him. The lights grow dim and dimmer, 
until the room is dark. Immediately, it begins 
to grow light again. Richard is alone and 
asleep, leaning back in his chair. There is a 
loud knock at the rear door.] 
Richard. [Starting up, cries excitedly.] They will 
stay! Come! Come! [Enter Oscar, Stephen, Cor- 
delia, Madeline, and Agnes.] Where — oh! It is you! 
[He stares at them, appearing surprised, and then dis- 
appointed.] 

Stephen. Well, here we are again, Rich. 
Richard. [Recovering himself, speaks calmly.] Yes, 
I see you are. 

Oscar. Well, Rich, did you get any new thoughts 
while we were gone? 
Richard. Yes. 

Madeline. Serious ones, too, I'll say. 
Cordelia. Let's get started, right away. Only two 
hours of the old year left, and I want you all at the 
apartment before midnight. 

Oscar. All set. Get your hat, Rich. 
Richard. [Gravely.] I am going to ask you to ex- 
cuse me. I don't feel that I can go. 

[The others look surprised.] 
Oscar. What! Not going? 



FIGS AND THISTLES 93 

Madeline. Oh, you must go. 

Stephen. [Dejectedly.] I knew some beastly thing 
would happen. 

Cordelia. I know you are all tired out. But come 
with us, and get out in the air. You'll feel better, then. 

Richard. It's not that. I am feeling perfectly well. 

Agnes. You're going to work on that play. [To the 
others.] Didn't I say, if he got started once, he'd go 
on, writing all night? 

Richard. I am not going to work on the play. I 
shall not write tonight. 

Cordelia. What's happened? Nothing serious, I hope. 

Richard I shall have friends with me tonight. [He 
takes up the book.] 

Madeline. Friends — visiting you, here? 

Richard. Yes. They were in, just before you came. 

Stephen. Well, well ! They must have dropped in 
rather unexpectedly. Friends you haven't seen for some 
time, no doubt. Must be dear friends to sidetrack us. 

Richard. Yes — dear friends they used to be. [He 
clasps the book to his breast. Pause.] 

Oscar. Do we know them? Have we seen them? 

Richard. You have seen them, but you do not know 
them. [Pause. They look strangely at Richard, and 
then at each other.] 

Oscar. [With an effort, getting up his courage.] 
Tell us — who are these friends? 

Richard. The people of my play. 

[They look at him incredulously, and at each other, 
mystified. They are about to speak, but some- 
thing in his look checks them. The curtain 
falls.] 



THE WISE MAN OF NINEVEH 

AN ORIENTAL PLAY 



CHARACTERS 

Sennacherib, King of Assyria. • 

Ahikar, the Wise, the king's counselor. 

Abusmak, the king's chief captain. 

Nadan, nephew and adopted son of Ahikar. 

Seraba, wife of Ahikar. 

Zumural, daughter of the king. 

Menar-Sula, a dancing girl. 

A Soothsayer. 

A Messenger. 

An Attendant. 

A Spy. 

Soldiers, Slaves, Musicians, etc. 

Act I. Scene i. Court in front of Ahikar's house. 
Scene 2. The King's council hall. 

Act II. Scene i. Gardens of the palace. 
Scene 2. The King's council hall. 

An interval of nine days between Act I. and Act II. 
The action takes place at Nineveh, 700 B. C. 



THE WISE MAN OF 
NINEVEH 

AN ORIENTAL PLAY 

ACT I. 

Scene i. A court in front of Ahikar' s house. Pillars 
on either side extend from the house into the fore- 
ground. In center, rear, is seen door to the house. 
The curtain rises, disclosing Seraba, seated on a 
bench, right, front, doing embroidery work. 
Ahikar, left front, stands with bowed head, in sad 
meditation. 

Seraba. O Ahikar, my husband, thou art much cast 
down. 

Ahikar. [Looking up.] The days are heavy, and 
the nights bring evil dreams. 

Seraba. Alas, what weighs upon thee? 

Ahikar. The wicked deeds of Nadan trouble me. 
He doth dissipate my property to its loss, and spareth 
not my servants and handmaids. He tormenteth my 
mules and cattle, and destroyeth the pick of the flock. 

Seraba. No good thought dwelleth in him. He is 
like an evil blast that heraldeth the baneful storm. 

Ahikar. Alas, that this should be my sister's son! 

Seraba. But thou hast made him as thine own son. 
Thou didst take him to thy house, when he was little. 

97 



98 SIX SHORT PLAYS 

Thou gavest him a gold chain for his neck, and like a 
king's son thou didst deck him out with ornaments. 
Thou hast clothed him in byssus and purple. Thou hast 
given him fine food, even milk and honey. Thou hast 
taught him thy precepts and maxims, yet hath he ever 
been mean and slothful. 

Ahikar. Thou knowest how this came to pass. No 
children came to us, despite our prayers and offerings 
to the gods. One day, when I gave sacrifice at Assur's 
temple, there came a voice from the flame, saying, "There 
is no seed ordained for thee, Ahikar. Take thou thy 
sister's son into thy house. Bring him up as thine own, 
and give him thy wisdom." 

Seraba. Thou didst desire this message overmuch ; 
thy longing for it brought it to thine ears. 

Ahikar. Shall men say, Lo, Ahikar dieth alive? 
Shall men say, Ahikar dieth, and leaveth no son to bury 
him, and no daughter to bewail him? Shall the people 
say, Ahikar's wisdom passeth, since no son taketh it from 
him? 

Seraba. Thou didst desire too much. The gods have 
given thee long life, wealth, and great wisdom, and have 
made thee to stand at the right hand of the king. The 
people honor thee as the wisest man in Nineveh. Thou 
shouldst have been content. Thou dost teach others that 
discontent is ever a downward path. 

Ahikar. The king did say unto me, "O Ahikar, thou 
growest old, and who will advise in the affairs of the 
kingdom, when thou art gone?" And I said, "O King, 
the voice of the king is even as the voice of the gods. 
Nadan, my sister's son, will I take into my house, and 
him will I instruct in all wisdom, and he shall stand 
before thee, when I am gone." And the king said, "It is 
well." 

Seraba. Thou knowest the saying: Rejoice not in the 
number of thy children, and in their lack be not distressed. 
But thou didst not regard this. Now art thou distressed, 
because of Nadan's evil ways. 



THE WISE MAN OF NINEVEH 99 

Ahikar. Yea, I am covered with grief and shame. 

Sebaba. Thou hast warmed a serpent, which will 
surely sting thee. 

Ahikar. I will reprove him once again. I will re- 
buke his folly. Perchance I may light a candle of under- 
standing in his heart. He may yet forsake his crooked 
path. 

Serbaa. And he will despise thy words, and scatter 
them like chaff before the wind. 

[A pause. Enter Abusmak, left. He makes 
sign of greeting, by extending the hands, palms 
downward, and bending the body forward.] 

Abusmak. Greeting, father Ahikar, and greeting, 
good Seraba. To both the gods give health. 

Ahikar. And long life to thee, Abusmak, son of my 
comrade. Hast thou tidings? Have the spies returned 
from Egypt? 

Abusmak. Nay, not yet. But evil tidings come from 
the south. The hosts of the Babylonians are stirred in 
rebellion, and the king is troubled. 

Ahikar. It is deep cause for trouble, for they are 
in multitude like the sands of the desert. 

Abusmak. I fear not their multitude. Already have 
I given command that the satraps and captains assemble 
their cohorts in the Royal City. In ten days they shall 
start for Babylon. 

Ahikar. In action thou art the king's arm. 

Abusmak. And in counsel thou the king's brain. 
Hast thou a plan, O wise Ahikar? For thy wisdom 
availeth more than chariots and the strength of horses. 

Ahikar. In that we have so many foes, and the 
course of Egypt is uncertain, we should make a covenant 
of friendship with some strong king. 

Abusmak. Thou art ever wise, father Ahikar. 

Ahikar. The Median king doth desire a league of 
amity. If that were made, he would lend us help. 

Abusmak. [Earnestly.] Do thou bring this before 
the king. My voice shall go for such a covenant. We 



ioo SIX SHORT PLAYS 

shall be stronger then to meet our enemies. But how can 
we gain the favor of the Median king? 

Ahikar. By offering the princess Zumural, to be his 
son's wife. 

Abusmak. [Starting back.] Oh, never, never! 
This can never be ! 

Ahikar. Why cannot this be done? Give reasons. 

Abusmak. [Fervently.] O father Ahikar, it cannot 
be ! It must not ! I came to speak to thee of the prin- 
cess Zumural — to beg thy counsel, but, till now, could 
not find words. 

Ahikar. Speak freely, son of my comrade. 

Abusmak. I love the princess. I want her for my 
wife. 

Ahikar. Abusmak, thou art fallen before the strong- 
est thing in the world. Wine is strong, but woman 
planteth the vineyard, whence the wine cometh. A king 
is strong, but all kings are born of woman. Man gath- 
ereth gold and silver and all goodly things, for the love 
of woman. Men have erred, sinned, and perished for 
women, and Zumural is one of these. 

Abusmak. [In fervid enthusiasm.] She is the flower 
of the rose tree in the spring, as the frankincense branch 
in the summer, as lilies by the rivers of waters. 

Ahikar. Passion hath taken away thy prudence. 
What will the king say to this ? 

Abusmak. Oh, plead my cause before the king, father 
Ahikar. Am I not valiant and true ? Have I not led the 
army well? 

Ahikar. Thou hast great honor for one so young. 
Thou art the king's chief captain. But the King's daugh- 
ter is not for thee. Thou art mad. Thou must not look 
so high. 

Abusmak. I am not mad, but I have dared to look 
at her, and I have dared to speak to her. 

Seraba. [Stopping her work.] Entreat the king for 
him, Ahikar, my husband. Lift up thy voice in his cause. 
The king will listen to thee, knowing thy wisdom. 



THE WISE MAN OF NINEVEH 101 

Abusmak. O good Seraba, the gods reward thee for 
thy words of cheer. 

Seraba. I speak for thee, and likewise for the prin- 
cess. A father giveth his daughter to whom he will, 
and she may never choose. It is an evil custom. Whether 
she be slave or princess, she is even as a slave, when 
given in marriage. 

Abusmak. Good Seraba, thou art also very wise. 

Seraba. A woman should love her husband, and a 
man should love his wife, as his own flesh. For she is 
himself, and his companion of his life, and by extreme 
labor she nurtureth his sons. 

Abusmak. O good Seraba! 

Ahikar. I will help thee. I will raise up my voice, 
even in the presence of the king. 

Abusmak. Good father Ahikar, thou wert my father's 
friend. Thou didst save his life, when he was falsely 
accused, and the king restored him to honor. I will ever 
look to heaven with mine eyes, remembering thy benefits, 
and I will seek the favor of the gods for thee. 

Ahikar. And I will kindle a fire on the altars of 
Belshim and Shamin. I will throw incense on the flame, 
make offerings, and seek an omen. Then will I go to the 
King. 

Abusmak. [Going left.] Farewell, father Ahikar, 
and good Seraba. The gods lengthen your days. [Goes 
out, left.) 

Seraba. Abusmak is strong and brave. The gods 
give him Zumural. Mayest thou persuade the king. 

Ahikar. My task is hard, and my striving may 
bring grief. Thou knowest the proverb : Do thou not 
bring about a betrothal, for they see the good to be from 
the gods and from luck; but the bad is traced to thee, 
and thou art despised. 

Seraba, [Looking left.] Behold, Nadan cometh — 
he whom thou hast made as a son. [Rising-*] It doth 
not please me to see him. [Goes into house. Enter 



102 SIX SHORT PLAYS 

Nadan. He is richly dressed. His expression is one of 
pride and arrogance.] 

Nadan. Greeting, father Ahikar. The gods keep 
thee well. 

Ahikar. Greeting, my son. 

Nadan. Father Ahikar, it doth grieve me to see that 
thou growest very old. Thy head is bowed, and thy 
beard is white. Thy limbs are feeble, and thy walk un- 
steady. 

Ahikar. Strength falleth from man at the winter of 
life, as the leaf falleth from the fig tree. 

Nadan. The affairs of the kingdom are now a burden 
too heavy for thee. Thou shouldst abide in thy house 
for rest and meditation. Let me stand before the king, 
and counsel him in thy place. I have youth, and I am 
very strong. 

Ahikar. Son, boast not in the day of thy youth, lest 
thy youth be thy destruction. 

Nadan. But thou hast taught me thy wisdom. 

Ahikar. Open thy heart to instruction in thy youth, 
and thou shalt find wisdom in thine old age. Thou must 
come to wisdom, as one that ploweth and planteth, and 
waiteth for the good fruits. 

Nadan. Thy powers fail thee, father Ahikar. Men 
say that thy mind is distraught, and thy thoughts de- 
ficient. Thou shouldst yield thy place, before thou art 
compelled to give way in dishonor. 

Ahikar. Son, thy mouth speaketh reverence, but thy 
heart goeth after covetousness. Avarice is the mother 
of all evils, and discontent leadeth to destruction. 

Nadan. [Nettled.] Didst thou not so rear me and 
teach me, that I should be counselor in thy place? 

Ahikar. Yea, when thou lovest honor, and honorest 
wisdom. 

Nadan. [Arrogantly.] Hast thou aught else to urge 
against me? 

Ahikar. Verily, I have. Thou hast of late grown 
insolent. Thou hast wasted my chattels. Thou hast 



THE WISE MAN OF NINEVEH 103 

abused my servants, and I have heard their weeping and 
groaning. Why hast thou given the slave, Roguel, a 
wound on the head? 

Nadan. He moved not quickly, when I spake. 

Ahikar. He that showeth no mercy shall not escape 
the rod. Nadan, thou art contentious, vain, and covetous. 
Yet will I bear with thee awhile, but if thou mend not thy 
ways, I shall make report of thee to the king, and I shall 
disown thee as my son. 

Nadan. [Sullenly.] I hear thee. Thou dost chide 
continually. 

Ahikar. Because thou dost continually offend. I go 
now to make offerings to Belshim and Shamin, for men 
must reverence the gods. I leave these precepts with 
thee: be humble, talk little, be modest in all things. 
Farewell. [He goes out right. Nadan walks about, in 
evident anger. After a moment, Menar-Sula enters, 
left. She looks apprehensively about her.] 

Menar-Sula. Nadan, dear Nadan! 

Nadan. [Surprised, turning toward her.] Menar- 
Sula! What meaneth this? 

Menar-Sula. O Nadan, thou didst not come to me, 
according to thy word, and I longed to see thee. 

Nadan. [Vexed.] Have I not told thee thou must 
not follow me about? It is unseemly. 

Menar-Sula. [Reproachfidly.] Four moons have 
not yet gone, since thou didst avow thy love, and thy 
feet were swift to bring thee to my side. 

Nadan. Now am I much busied with affairs. I must 
learn the art of writing, the answering of dispatches, the 
flight of birds, and divination. 

Menar-Sula. Thou couldst come at nightfall. 

Nadan. At nightfall I light the altar fires, and make 
offerings to the gods. 

Menar-Sula. [Angrily.] Thou hast time for other 
maidens ! Nelida hath seen thee. 

Nadan. [Sternly.] Nelida shall be whipped for 
speaking lies. 



104 SIX SHORT PLAYS 

Menar-Sula. Oh, no ! Let her not be beaten for my 
hasty words. I will believe thee. But say again, thou 
lovest me. 

Nadan. In truth, I do. 

Menar-Sula. Nadan, my heart's desire, when wilt 
thou take me as thy wife? 

Nadan. Thou must not think of that. 

Menar-Sula. [Insistently. ] Thou didst promise, 
thou didst promise! 

Nadan. But then it had not been decreed that I should 
stand before the king, and be chief scribe and counselor, 
in place of father Ahikar. The king would not suffer 
me to take a slave to wife. 

Menar-Sula. [Proudly. ] My father gave no tribute 
to any king. He was a Bedouin chief. I am nobly born. 

Nadan. But here thou art a slave. 

Menar-Sula. [Fiercely.] Nadan, cast me not aside! 
My blood is fierce and wild, as are the desert horses. 
Make me not desperate! 

Nadan. [In conciliatory tone.] I love thee, truly. 
But thou must be more discreet. [Looking about.] 
Someone might see thee. 

Menar-Sula. [Pleading. ] O take me as thy wife! 

Nadan. I cannot. Thou art not free. 

Menar-Sula. Then take me as thy slave — thine only 
slave, and keep me forever. 

Nadan. That will I do. 

Menar-Sula. [Kneels before him, and clasps his 
knees. ] O Nadan, I love thee! 

Nadan. [Raising her up.] Good Sula, rise. I will 
do much to make thee happy. [He pauses a moment in 
thought. ] Ten moons have gone, since thou earnest from 
Arabia. Dost thou not long to see thy native land? 

Menar-Sula. Thou hast made me forget it. 

Nadan. But thy father and mother and brethren? 

Menar-Sula. Thou art more to me than my kindred. 

Nadan. [Walks slowly from her in thought, pauses 



THE WISE MAN OF NINEVEH 105 

a moment, and then turns toward her.] Dost thou love 
me enough to do something I shall require of thee? 

Menar-Sula. Thou knowest I do. 

Nadan. Wilt thou give a letter to the king? 

Menar-Sula. [In surprise.] To the King? 

Nadan. Yea, hast thou courage to do it? 

Menar-Sula. Dost thou mean today, when I dance 
before him? 

Nadan. Yea, today, after the dance is done. I will 
instruct thee what to do and what words to say. Canst 
thou — wilt thou do this thing for me? 

Menar-Sula. I can and will do anything for thee. 

Nadan. [Puts his hands on her cheeks, and kisses 
her forehead.] Go now, good Sula, before thou art seen. 
I will come to thee very soon. Now thou must hasten. 
Farewell. 

Menar-Sula. [Goes left, then turns.] Farewell, 
Nadan, my life. [She goes out left. Nadan goes, right. 
As they pass out, the curtain falls.] 



io6 SIX SHORT PLAYS 



Scene 2. The same day. The King's council hall. 
At the left, The King is seated on a raised throne. 
At his right, stand Abusmak, Nadan, Zumural, and 
Seraba. At his left, and rear, stand soldiers, slaves, 
etc. Two slaves stir the air over The King with 
long-handled fans. A moment after the curtain rises, 
Menar-Sula and two players on stringed in- 
struments enter from right, and prostrate themselves 
before The King. The King stretches out his hand, 
and they rise. The musicians take their stand, rear, 
center, and play, and Menar-Sula dances. Music 
and dance are oriental. After the dance is done, 
dancer and players prostrate themselves again before 
The King. Again he stretches out his hand, and they 
arise and retire right, keeping their faces toward The 
King. 

The King. Music is pleasant to the ear, and a maid, 
dancing, delighteth the eye. Yet am I tired of it. Naught 
pleaseth me today. Time crawleth slowly on, burdened 
with cares. [To Abusmak.] Have the spies returned 
from Egypt? 

Abusmak. My lord and king, not yet. 

The King. Mayhap the Egyptians knew them to be 
spies, and hold them now as captives, lest they tell us 
of preparation for war against us. 

Abusmak. My lord, I think not so. They are clever 
men and cunning, and so garbed as to belie their mission. 
Time, indeed, hath gone to make the journey, but they 
would linger, getting report to our advantage. 

Nadan. My lord and king, if we but send a hundred 
talents of gold, and a thousand men for making bricks, 
the Egyptian king will be our friend. 

Abusmak. It were better that ten thousand die in 
battle, than that a thousand die as slaves. 



THE WISE MAN OF NINEVEH 107 

The King. We must weigh reasons, and follow the 
best counsel. Where is the wise Ahikar? 

Nadan. He is at the temple of Belshim and Shamin. 
[Pause. Sound of a trumpet outside, right. All listen. 
It sounds again.] 

Abusmak. [Excitedly.] O King, the trumpet sound- 
eth the signal, which doth proclaim the spies have come 
from Egypt. [Enter from right one of the spies. He 
prostrates himself before the king.] 

The Spy. I bow on my face, at the feet of the king. 

The King. Rise and speak. 

The Spy. [Rising.] At thy command, O King, we 
went to Egypt, my fellows and myself, and stayed there 
many days. Some told us war was planned, but none 
knew in what quarter. 

The King. Didst learn aught of their numbers? 

The Spy. We spied among their ranks, and found 
as follows : of bowmen there are one hundred and forty 
thousand; of slingers, two hundred and twelve thousand; 
of war chariots, a thousand ; of lancers with shields, we 
learned not the number; of tents and baggage carts, many. 
In all, their hosts are as grasshoppers for multitude. 

The King. Learned ye aught else? 

The Spy. Their king is much troubled, and their 
priests are anxious and perplexed. 

The King. Didst thou learn the cause of this? 

The Spy. One of our number, garbed as a seer, 
talked with their priests, and learned this much : their 
king had planned a mighty work, but some god gave 
forth an oracle, which must be made clear before the 
work go on. No one in Egypt can expound the saying. 
Therefore, are their priests and wise men much dis- 
traught. 

The King. [Musing.] A king may crush the man 
that vexeth him, but the gods will not be stayed. [To 
The Spy.] Hast thou other matter for mine ear? 

The Spy. Naught else of import. 



108 SIX SHORT PLAYS 

The King. Thou mayest go. There will be gold and 
presents for thee and thy comrades. 

The Spy. O king, live forever! [He withdraws, 
right, keeping his face toward The King.] 

The King. [To Abusmak. ] Dost thou believe the 
Egyptians will war against us? 

Abusmak. If they come, O king, their bodies will 
rest forever on the plain, outside the Royal City. 

[Enter Menar-Sula, quickly, from right. She 
advances to The King, and prostrates herself.] 

Menar-Sula. I am thy slave and the dust of thy feet. 

The King. Rise and speak. 

Menar-Sula. [Rising.] O king, I found this writ- 
ing in the way, and have brought it to my lord and king. 
[Gives him a piece of parchment.] 

The King. [Handing it to Abusmak.] Read. 

Abusmak. [Reading.] "Ahikar, counselor to Sen- 
nacherib, king of Assyria, to Merodach-baladan, King of 
Babylon. All hail. When this writing reacheth thee, 
thou shalt muster thy forces, and come to the Plain of 
the Eagles, on the fourteenth day of the month Si van, 
and I will put in thy power the land of the Assyrians, 
and will give the throne of Sennacherib into thy hand." 
[All start in great surprise.] 

The King. [Rising.] Ahikar hath written this! 
Let mine eyes behold it. 

Abusmak. [Handing the parchment to The King.] 
Surely, this came not from Ahikar's hand! 

The King. Is not this Ahikar's seal? Look, Nadan. 
[Hands parchment to Nadan.] 

Nadan. Truly, it is his seal, and the writing is his. 
[Hands parchment back to The King.] 

The King. [Falling back on his throne.] Ahikar, 
my counselor, would betray me! Abusmak, straightway 
bring him before me. 

Abusmak. I obey the king. [Goes out right, keeping 
his face to The King.] 



THE WISE MAN OF NINEVEH 109 

The King. [To Menar-Sula.] Tell me, girl, again, 
where didst thou find this writing? 

Menar-Sula. I saw one gallop swiftly toward the 
western gate. This letter fell from his hand. I took it 
up, and brought it to the king. 

The King. Thou hast done well. Thou shalt have 
ten shekels of silver, and a cloak of byssus. Thou mayest 

Menar-Sula. May the king live forever. [She goes 
out, right, keeping her face toward The King.] 

The King. Ahikar false! Whom can I trust? 

Seraba. O king, Ahikar hath not done this thing, nor 
hath he ever contrived evil against thee. 

The King. His writing and his seal condemn him. 

Nadan. Perchance, O king, he will interpret the 
writing for good, not evil. Behold, he cometh. [Enter 
Abusmak and Ahikar, right. Both salute The King.] 

Ahikar. The gods give thee long life, O king. 

The King. [Sternly.] Ahikar, I did trust thee. I 
put thee in a high place, and did listen to thy counsel, 
and from my throne ithou wouldst now hurl me to ruin. 
Thou wouldst betray me into the hand of Merodach- 
baladan of Babylon. 

Ahikar. Who bringeth such a charge against me, O 
my lord and king? 

The King. [Handing him the parchment.] Read 
what thy hand hath written. 

Ahikar. [Reads the parchment.] O King, I have 
not contrived this message, nor put my hand to it. Some 
enemy hath done it. 

The King. [Coldly.] Doth it not bear thy seal? 

Ahikar. Alas, it doth. 

The King. The hand writing is thy very own. 

Ahikar. It doth resemble mine, yet have I not formed 
the characters. 

The King. [In stern anger.] Abusmak, lead away 
the faithless and godless Ahikar. Take him to the 
Desolate Field, and have him slain, and remove his head 



no SIX SHORT PLAYS 

one hundred ells from his body. [The others, except 
Nadan, look aghast.] 

Seraba. [Pleading.] O King, live forever. Spare 
Ahikar, for he hath not sinned against thee. Rather 
doth he meditate, day and night, how best to serve thee. 
He is a priest of Assur. Wilt thou offend the gods? 

The King. [Haughtily.] The king is mightier than 
the gods. 

Abusmak. O king, judge not Ahikar on this piece of 
writing found by chance, for surely some deceit is hidden 
in it. Thy father, great King Sargon, loved and trusted 
him. His wisdom made Assyria great. By his wise 
counsel were the Hittites and the Philistines subdued, 
Samaria was overthrown, and the tribes of Israel taken 
in captivity. 

The King. Now would he overthrow Nineveh, and 
make us slaves to Babylon. 

Zumural. Father, my lord and king, the wise Ahikar 
doth not merit death. This thing is not from him, for 
he is good, even as he is wise. The grapevine doth not 
send out thorns, nor doth the fig tree give forth thistles. 
How, then, can Ahikar do an evil thing? 

The King. Thou knowest not the wickedness of 
men's hearts. 

Nadan. Ahikar is inane and weak. The burden of 
the counselor hath been too great for his old age, for 
he is near the grave. He wot not what he wrote. Banish 
him from Assyria, and let him die of sickness. 

The King. The unfaithful man must die today. 

Ahikar. O king, thou hast willed me to death, and 
wilt not hear me. But I am innocent, and there is no 
deceit in my heart. My life hath been open. Long did 
I serve great Sargon, thy father. Long have I served 
thee. Long have I stood in the House of the Great 
Mountain of the Lands. Now thou wilt send me down 
to silence, gloom, and dust. But have pity on thy servant. 
Since I must die, command that I be slain within my 
house, and my body given over to burial. 



THE WISE MAN OF NINEVEH in 

The King. [Rising.] Let him be slain within his 
house, and his body given burial. Two witnesses shall 
bring me word thereof. Thus endeth it. So perish all 
unfaithful to the king. The king hath spoken. [The 
curtain falls.] 



ii2 SIX SHORT PLAYS 



ACT II. 



NINE DAYS LATER 



Scene i. The gardens of The King's palace. It is 
moonlight. There are flower beds, with walks be- 
tween, and a fountain in the rear. There is a bench, 
front, center. The curtain rises, disclosing Abusmak, 
standing near bench, and looking expectantly toward 
left entrance of garden. After a moment, Zumural 
enters from left. She goes up to him, and gives him 
her hands. 

Abusmak. Zumural, thou hast come at last! 

Zumural. Have I come late, good Abusmak? 

Abusmak. I came too soon. I could not wait. Nine 
days have gone, since I have seen thee. To a waiting 
heart how slow the time ! Now it will run as in a happy 
dream. With thee how have the hours gone, sweet 
Zumural? 

Zumural. I burden the air with my sighs. I moan 
like a dove, night and day. 

Abusmak. [Looking around.] Are we secure from 
spying eyes? 

Zumural. My father and myself alone come here, 
and he taketh his rest now. Pray sit beside me, here. 
[They sit together on the bench.] Now tell me all. 

Abusmak. I have not yet spoken to the king, thy 
father. I thought it well to let his anger cool, which 
burned so hot against Ahikar. 

Zumural. Alas ! I mourn for good Ahikar. And 
thou hast lost a friend. 

Abusmak. And gained an enemy. Nadan is coun- 



THE WISE MAN OF NINEVEH 113 

selor now. Flattery hath gained for him the king's ear, 
and he doth work against me. He doth ever counsel 
peace to misprise my office. Therefore do I wait for a 
favorable hour to plead my cause. 

Zumural. O Abusmak, what hath fate in store for us ? 

Abusmak. Who knoweth what the future hath of 
good or evil? Who is there that can grasp the will of 
the immortal gods? But time breaketh all seals. To- 
morrow may be big with portent. 

Zumural. And why tomorrow? 

Abusmak. A messenger from Egypt hath come to 
Nineveh. Tomorrow he will appear before the king. 
Tomorrow we shall know if it be peace or war with 
Egypt. 

Zumural. How can peace or war touch our desires? 

Abusmak. If it be war, I will bide my time, until 
the day of battle. Then will I ask the King for thee, for 
in the day of battle I shall be greater than the King. 

Zumural. Oh, may the Egyptians come, if thou be 
not hurt. 

Abusmak. A captain is not great, except in war. 
Then all look to him for safety, king and slave alike. 

Zumural. I would I were a slave ! Then thou 
couldst take me. 

Abusmak. Wert thou a slave, I would take thee as 
mine own, and thou shouldst be the master — I the slave. 

Zumural. O dear Abusmak! 

Abusmak. If all else fail, there is still one path that 
we may take together. 

Zumural. Whither doth it lead, Abusmak? 

Abusmak. It leadeth from the court, far from 
Nineveh. 

Zumural. I will take that path with thee. 

Abusmak. Consider well. Thou art a king's daugh- 
ter. Thou hast soft raiment and dainty viands. Thou 
art perfumed with sweet storax and galbanum. But 
endive and gall are not more bitter than poverty. 

ZumUral. I have no fear of the future. 



ii 4 SIX SHORT PLAYS 

Abusmak. The good things of earth are for those 
who live in kings' houses. The lot of the exile is hard. 

Zumural. I can meet hardships and trials, and find 
joy in sharing them with thee. Separation I cannot 
endure. 

Abusmak. O Zumural, thy voice and thy beauty, like 
unmixed wine, overmaster me. My blood runs riot, and 
I must leave thee, ere I forget all else; and I must speak 
with the captains yet tonight. [Both rise and move 
toward right.] 

Zumural. Farewell, good Abusmak. 

Abusmak. Farewell, sweet Zumural. The gods keep 
thee. [He kisses her hands, and then kisses her fore- 
head. Then he goes off, right. She stands a moment, 
looking after him, and then returns to the seat, and sits. 
Menar-Sula comes in, timidly, from left. Zumural 
sees her, and rises. Menar-Sula halts, as though doubt- 
ful of her course.] 

Zumural. [Reprovingly.] Dost thou venture to 
come into the king's gardens? 

Menar-Sula. [Running to Zumural, and kneeling 
before her.] O princess Zumural, pardon! Pardon thy 
handmaiden for coming here. But I am in distress. 

Zumural. Art thou not Menar-Sula, the Arabian 
dancing girl? 

Menar-Sula. I am, O princess, and the unhappiest 
slave in Nineveh. 

Zumural. [Kindly.] Rise, Menar-Sula, and tell me 
all. I will be kind to thee. 

Menar-Sula. [Rising.] O princess, the gods be 
kind to thee. I am a slave, and I wish to be free. The 
hope hath come to me that thou mightest help me, if 
I could plead with thee, and tell thee my unhappy state. 

Zumural. Why art thou unhappy? Thou are fed 
and clothed. Thou hast no cares. If thou wert free, 
how wouldst thou get bread, in a land where thou art 
strange ? 



THE WISE MAN OF NINEVEH 115 

Menar-Sula. [Confidently.] I should be well cared 
for, were I but free. 

Zumural. Foolish girl! Thou knowest naught of 
this great city of wickedness and lies. Thou wouldst be 
as a bird before the fowler. Now thou art as a bird hid 
in the cedar. 

Menar-Sula. [Eagerly.] O princess, hear me 
further. A youth of thy nation loveth me, and will take 
me as his wife, when I am free. 

Zumural. A youth of Nineveh loveth thee? [Zu- 
mural resumes her seat.] 

Menar-Sula. Yea, princess. 

Zumural. [Gently.] And dost thou love him? 

Menar-Sula. More than all else in life. To honor 
him I would I were a princess. 

Zumural. [Thoughtfully.] And if thou wert a prin- 
cess, and he low born, wouldst give up all to share his lot ? 

Menar-Sula. Gladly, princess. Dost thou not un- 
derstand ? 

Zumural. I understand. Princess and slave are one 
at heart, and both are slaves to passion. 

Menar-Sula. [Pleading.] O princess, wilt thou 
help me? 

Zumural. But, Menar-Sula, dost thou not know a 
man may wed a slave, if he so desire? 

Menar-Sula. He is of exalted rank. 

Zumural. Of exalted rank? What is his station? 

Menar-Sula. [Proudly.] He is great. None 
standeth higher. He doth serve the king. 

Zumural. Who is this youth? Tell me, Menar-Sula. 
I will keep thy secret. 

Menar-Sula. He is Nadan, the king's counselor. 

Zumural. [Rising in surprise.] Nadan! Hath 
Nadan promised to take thee as his wife? 

Menar-Sula. He hath said it, he hath promised. 

Zumural. [To herself.] How doth the heart lend 
the mind hope! [Pause.] But I will help thee. I will 



n6 SIX SHORT PLAYS 

plead for thee before the king, tomorrow. His words 
will set thee free. 

Menar-Sula. [Clasping her hands in emotion.] To 
be free — free, tomorrow ! Oh ! princess ! 

Zumural. [Sympathetically.] Good Menar-Sula, 
thou shalt hear the words that make thee free. Thou 
mayest stand close by the door, and hear me plead, and 
hear the king consent. Tomorrow thou art free. 

Menar-Sula. [Kneels and kisses Zumural's hands.] 
O gracious princess, after I am free, love still enslaveth 
me, else would I be thy slave. The gods make thee 
happy, as they have made thee beautiful. The gods give 
thee all thy heart's desire. [The curtain falls.] 



THE WISE MAN OF NINEVEH 117 



Scene 2. The next morning. Scene and characters the 
same as in Act I, Scene 2, but the persons on the 
king's right are in this order: Nadan, Zu mural, 
Abusmak, Seraba. 

The King. Speak, Nadan, my counselor, what busi- 
ness waiteth for us? 

Nadan. My lord and king, a courier hath come from 
Egypt, bearing a message from the Egyptian king, and 
he will soon stand before thee. 

The King. It is well. We shall weigh the message, 
before we give reply. Dost thou know aught thereof? 

Nadan. I know not, my king, if it mean peace or war. 

The King. What tidings from Babylon, Abusmak? 

Abusmak. The rebellious princes still defy thine au- 
thority, and now seek to incite the Arabians against us. 
Last night we started out a mighty force for Babylon, 
under a strong leader. We shall soon scatter the rebels. 

The King. Why are the warlike tribes of Media 
stirred? 

Abusmak. They meditate no evil against us. Their 
strife is elsewhere. 

Nadan. Beloved of Assur, the omens are uncertain, 
and the heavens are troubled. The moon, at setting, had 
the color of a dust cloud, filling the crescent. It is an 
evil sign. Make peace with thine enemies, O king. 

Abusmak. Shall we fear the Arabian dogs, or the 
black-headed people of the Euphrates? Is not Assyria 
great? Is not our lord most powerful? We shall crush 
the rebels like straws, and strike them with the plagues 
of the four elements. 

The King. Why do our people hide in their houses, 
and why do caravans, by night and day, leave the Royal 
City? 

Abusmak. Some are afraid, O king, and Ahikar's 
fate hath saddened them. 



u8 SIX SHORT PLAYS 

Seraba. He was a father to them all. They trusted 
in his wisdom. Now they know it is gone. 

The King. Peace, Seraba. The life of day before 
yesterday hath departed today. 

Nadan. Let men be told that I have Ahikar's wisdom. 
[Sound of a trumpet, right.] 

Nadan. O king, the messenger from Egypt cometh 
now. [Pause. Enter Messenger. He advances to 
The King, and makes profound obeisance, bending low 
his body, and extending hands, palms downward.] 

The Messenger. Seven times and seven times do I, 
the royal messenger, bow before the king of Assyria. 

King. Speak, O royal messenger, I incline mine ear 
to hear thee. 

The Messenger. [Taking scroll from his girdle, 
reads.] Shabaka, Pharaoh of Egypt, King of Ethiopia, 
lord of the Nile, beloved of Osiris and Isis, to Sennach- 
erib, King of Assyria, greeting. Health to your lordship 
and kingship. Be it known to thee that I will build a 
great palace, reaching from earth to heaven. Thou shalt 
send me the wisest man in Assyria to direct the building 
thereof. No one may direct this work, save only he 
who can interpret the oracle of Osiris, and no one in 
Egypt can do this. Send me such a man, and to him 
will I give great honor and much treasure, and I will 
be thy friend. If thou fail, I shall destroy thy country, 
and take thy throne. 

The King. What is this saying that the wisdom of 
Egypt cannot solve? 

The Messenger. This is the saying: [Reads. ] 
Behold, a great pillar. On the pillar are twelve cedars. 
On each cedar are thirty wheels. On each wheel are two 
couriers, one white and one black, and the whole is the 
most precious thing in life. 

The King. Messenger of King Shabaka, thou art 
welcome to the Royal City. Come before me in three 
days, and get thine answer. Meanwhile thou shalt be 
well fed and sheltered. Thou mayest go. Nadan, re- 



THE WISE MAN OF NINEVEH 119 

ceive the message. [Nadan takes the scroll, and The 
Messenger retires, right, keeping his face toward The 
King.] 

The King. Ye have heard the message from Egypt. 
How doth it move you ? 

Nadan. We have many enemies, O king. The great- 
ness of thy glory doth provoke them. We should make 
peace with the Egyptians, for they bear cruel weapons, 
without fear of the fight. 

Abusmak. If they see us tremble, they will think us 
slaves. Thou hast, O king, ever triumphed over thy foes. 
Hast thou not scattered the Elamites? Hast thou not 
shut up King Hezekiah of Judah, like a bird in a cage? 
Our people are strong and well fed, and thy splendor 
covereth the land like a garment. 

The King. Yea, it is even so. 

Abusmak. Though we fear not Egypt's threat, it will 
be well to send the Egyptian king the meaning of the 
saying. He shall fear our wisdom, as he feareth our 
armies. 

The King. But who can solve this riddle? 

Abusmak. Let Nadan, the counselor, answer. Hath 
he not Ahikar's wisdom? 

Nadan. Great king, the gods themselves cannot give 
answer to the saying. It is but folly. Twelve cedars 
cannot stand on a pillar. The Egyptian king doth mock us. 

Seraba. O king, thou needest now, indeed, the wis- 
dom of Ahikar. 

The King. [Anxiously.] If the Egyptians join our 
foes, how can we meet so great a multitude? We must 
have peace with Egypt. But who can expound the saying? 

Abusmak. O king, there is an aged soothsayer in my 
house, who sought shelter with me. He hath the wisdom 
of the east and west. The gods have favored him, and 
taught him to interpret dreams and omens. Never have 
I listened to a wiser man. Command that he come before 
thee, that he may expound this saying. 



120 SIX SHORT PLAYS 

The King. Go, Abusmak. Bring this soothsayer 
before me. 

[Abusmak goes out right, keeping his face to The 
King.] 

Nadan. No seer can make fitting answer to the saying. 
It is but a deceit to trouble us. 

The King. The key that shall unlock its meaning will 
open a door for peace with Egypt. 

Zumural. O king, my lord and father, hear me. I 
seek a boon of thee. Make Menar-Sula free. She is 
the Arabian dancing girl, and she doth please me much. 
I would have her with me. [Menar-Sula's face is seen 
at curtained door, rear.] 

The King. I will command that she attend thee. 

Zumural. Not as a slave, my father. Let her be 
free to choose. 

Nadan. O king, hear thy counselor. I have devised 
a plan to gain the friendship of the Egyptians. Let us 
send gold and ivory to their king, and let us send the 
Arabian dancing girl to please his eye. Therefore, do 
not set her free, but send her as a present to the Egyptian 
king. 

Zumural. [Pleading.] Oh, send her not to Egypt. 
Make her free. 

Nadan. If freed, she would return at once to her 
native land. The Arabian king would think thou didst 
despise his gift, and his anger would be stirred against us. 
[Menar-Sula disappears.] 

The King. I fain would please thee, daughter. I will 
ponder this, and give answer at another time. No more 
today. Abusmak cometh now, leading the aged seer, and 
he now hath our thought. [Enter Abusmak and The 
Soothsayer. The latter, covered by a cloak from head 
to foot, kneels before The King.] 

The Soothsayer. O mighty king, I bow before thee. 
May health of body and joy of heart be thy daily portion. 

The King. Rise, O seer, and know why I have sent 
for thee. Canst thou explain oracles? 



THE WISE MAN OF NINEVEH 121 

The Soothsayer. [Rises.] With the help of the 
gods, O king. 

The King. The gods lend thee aid. If thou canst 
rightly interpret this saying, thou mayest ask anything 
of me, and I will give it. Do thou, O Nadan, read the 
saying. 

Nadan. [Reading.] Behold, a great pillar. On the 
pillar are twelve cedars. On each cedar are thirty wheels. 
On each wheel are two couriers, one white and one black, 
and the whole is the most precious thing in life. 

The Soothsayer. [Puts both hands to his head, and 
stands a moment in thought.] The meaning is plain, O 
king. The pillar is the year. The twelve cedars are the 
months of the year. The thirty wheels are the days of 
the month. The couriers, one white and one black, are 
dawn and nightfall, and time is the most precious thing 
in life. 

The King. [In wonder and admiration.] Oh, thou 
art wondrous wise! 

Nadan. He hath the wisdom of the gods ! 

The King. Thou art mighty in wisdom. This is, 
indeed, the truth. I have known none so wise as thou. 
I would have thy counsel ever as a guide. Thou art even 
wiser than Ahikar. 

The Soothsayer. [Throwing off his cloak, reveals 
himself as Ahikar.] Behold, O king, I am Ahikar! 
[All but Abusmak and Seraba start in amazement.] 

The King. [Shrinking back in fear.] Ahikar! Hast 
thou come back from the gloom and dust of the under- 
world? 

Abusmak. O king, let me speak. As I led Ahikar 
forth, ten days ago, we passed great Assur's temple. A 
cloud of smoke came from the altar, and from the smoke 
a voice, saying: "Slay not Ahikar, the Wise." Dismayed, 
I cried: "How can I serve the King, and reverence the 
gods?" Again the voice: "Spare wise Ahikar yet ten 
days, for then the King shall sorely need his wisdom." 



122 SIX SHORT PLAYS 

And so I hid him in my house, and good Seraba brought 
him bread and wine — 

Nadan. [Triumphantly.] Now thou knowest, O 
king, that Abusmak hath not been faithful to thee. 

The King. Nadan, be still. I will hear all. 

Abusmak. And now the prophecy hath come to pass. 
Pardon thy servants who have done this thing. 

The King. The gods are mightier than the king. 
Yet how did witnesses bring me word thereof? 

Abusmak. By drinking unmixed wine, their brains 
were fuddled, and their senses dulled. A slave con- 
demed to death for shedding blood, they saw, and took 
him for Ahikar. 

The King. All are pardoned who have known of this. 
And, good father Ahikar, pardon me, thy king, for I have 
listened to evil report against thee. He who hath 
wronged thee, by false words, shall die. 

Menar-Sula. [Rushing in right, speaks excitedly.] 
Thou shalt know the truth, O King! The message that 
I brought I found not in the way. No horseman dropped 
it. [Nadan goes quickly out, left.] 

The King. [Sternly.] Why hast thou deceived the 
king? 

Menar-Sula. I did it for Nadan. 

The King. For Nadan ! 

Menar-Sula. Yea, he put the message in my hand. 
He put the words in my mouth. [Desperately.] Kill 
me if thou wilt! I care not! 

Zumural. [Pityingly.] Menar-Sula! O king, my 
father, pardon her. She hath made amends. 

The King. Go, girl, in safety. [She runs out left.] 
Let Nadan stand before me. Where is Nadan? 

Abusmak. He hath gone from sight, my lord. 

The King. He cannot escape. Hear ye all : Ahikar 
is counselor again. Let heralds proclaim in all the streets 
that Ahikar liveth, and hath greater honor than before. 
And now, noble father Ahikar, ask what thou wilt. It 
shall be given thee, according to my word. 



THE WISE MAN OF NINEVEH 123 

Ahikar For myself I ask naught, O king. But for 
Ab^makf'son of my comrade, I ask this, gl ve him the 
princess Zumural to wife 

Abusmak. O blessed father Ahikar! 
The King. It shall be so. The thread of wool shall 
bind her hand to his, while great Ishtar is invoked to bless 
the union. [Abusmak takes Zumural's hand and puts 
Ms Zn around he,] Abusmak is brave and virtues. 
He shall bear my signet, and all shall bow before him. 
Onlv on the throne shall I be greater. 

An Attendant. [Rushes in, left, and prostrates Hm- 
self before The King.] Lo, I am the footstool at the 
feet of my king. 
The King. Rise and speak. 

Attendant. [Rising. ] Nadan lies at the palace gate, 
a girdle dagger in his heart. 
Zumural. Menar-Sula! 

Abusmak. He durst not stand in the flame of thy 
wrath, O king. He hath slain himself. 

The King. It is better so. . 

Ahikar. He who diggeth a pit shall fall therein. 
Out of evil cometh evil, and a troubled heart. 

The King. O wise Ahikar, how can man find the 
good, and be at peace? 

Ahikar. While man striveth, let him ever know that 
the best gifts come from a higher power. Therefore, let 
him eat his bread and salt in gratitude, and be content. 

[the curtain falls.] 



